To Fight Your Inner Demon
by Scourge of Europe
Summary: Angel and Buffy are still persecuted by the Council that is very keen on ridding the world of perhaps their greatest failure, a turned Slayer. Where does Wolfram & Hart fit into all this? Second part to When You’re Evil, crossover BtVS AtS. BA.
1. NEVER A DULL MOMENT

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TO FIGHT YOUR INNER DEMON**

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_Spoilers: This part has spoilers for all of season 5 BtVS/2 AtS, and I guess I better warn about a few things from Angel season 3 here and there too. _

_Summary: The story continues; Angel and Buffy are still persecuted by the Council, and they have yet to find out how far the Watchers are willing to go to rid the world of what they consider their greatest failure in recent history; a turned Slayer. Will life, or unlife for that matter, ever return to normal? And where does Wolfram & Hart's plans for Angel fit into all this? Old friends and enemies will be there to help… and hinder._

_Rating: Rated R – or M, nowadays – for violence, language, adult situations, death, torture and mental agony… you know the drill._

_Pairings: B/A. If you've read the first part, you'll know that's my focus. There is also Xander/Anya going on there in the background. _

_Feedback: Remember the three keywords for any writer; feedback, feedback, feedback. So yes, feed me back. Give me feedback._

_A/N: I'm back, and I'm a bloody animal! This story continues right where **When You're Evil** left off. You should read that one first as a lot of things have happened and this fic might not make very much sense if you're going in blind, so to speak. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, only the plot and any minor characters you don't recognize from the show. Blah, blah, blah…_

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**CHAPTER 1: NEVER A DULL MOMENT**

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"Are you sure you are all right?"

Angel turned his head to look at Buffy. She stared into space and didn't seem to even hear him speak to her. Something was off with her; that was for sure. It frustrated him that he couldn't see what it was.

They were on their way back to the Hyperion after a miserably failing Bucah hunt. After Buffy had gotten attacked by something – presumably the Bucah – they hadn't been able to pick up its scent again. It had simply vanished, probably realizing that if it wanted to keep its scaly fins attached to its body, it better find new feeding grounds.

Angel assumed that Buffy simply could be a little disappointed that she had lost track of the demon – she had always hated to loose, and with both innate Slayer instincts and a demon inside of her, she could very well be feeling depressed about the fact that she had lost her prey. Yeah, it made perfect sense. Still, he wasn't so sure that was the case.

"Buffy?" At the sound of her name, she snapped out of her trancelike state and turned her head slightly to meet his gaze. Her eyes were confused… absent. Now, he was used to her mood swings. She had a lot on her mind and he often found her lost in thoughts, but for some reason this was different. At least he thought so.

"What? Yeah… sure, I'm fine. You?"

Angel smiled a little, just a tad worried that Buffy hadn't even understood why he asked how she was feeling. "There's nothing wrong with me, and the question wasn't really just a general poll. You've seemed a little out of it since you got hit back in the sewers."

Buffy rubbed her head with her right hand. "Yeah, well, even if I'm a vampire and a former Slayer, I still get affected by electric shocks. I feel a little funky, but it's no big. Just… stop bugging me, okay?"

Angel fixated his gaze on the road ahead. "I didn't know I was," he said quietly. Luckily they would be home soon – then they could just go to bed and forget this day.

* * *

As soon as Buffy raised herself up, getting to her feet, she felt a stinging headache in the back of her skull. 

The thing that tried to light her up like a Christmas tree must have been loading some serious power. She brushed herself of and looked around in the dark and dank sewer tunnel. So, where was Angel? She could feel his scent very clearly in the tunnel, but she couldn't hear him anywhere. Strange.

Well, maybe he had gone after the Bucah. Angel, always the devoted do-gooder.

Usually, the notion of Angel going after a creature that was strong enough to knock her out without any trouble would worry Buffy... But now she felt strangely calm and care free. She smiled to herself. Actually, besides the headache, she felt pretty damn good.

In some way she felt lighter than before, as if nothing could harm or worry her ever again. No worries, no dark thoughts… nothing. What did that shock do to her, really? She would remember to thank Cordelia for sending them after the Bucah before she killed her.

Buffy froze for a minute. Why would she kill Cordelia? She didn't even feel wrong about thinking it – and she didn't feel ashamed for not feeling wrong about it. Hmm.

Well, about killing Cordelia, she guessed that Angel would have a thing or two to say about that. God, he could be so boring sometimes. Can't do this, can't do that… I feel so bad about that, yak, yak, yak… He simply cared too much. So full of emotion.

Angelus, now, _he_ would be glad to join Buffy in killing Cordelia. In fact, when she thought about it, she realized that she and Angelus probably could have a lot of fun together. They had a lot in common. She couldn't understand that she had ignored all Angelus' qualities every time she had met him. Now _that_ was a real man – like Angel visually, although a better dresser, but more dangerous, more interesting… more demon.

Suddenly it hit her. Whatever gave her the electric shock must have somehow made her shed her soul. She had no idea _how_ it might have done it, but she was sure that was it. Why else would she feel so good and carefree, and even feel more strongly for Angelus than Angel? Well, not that she would complain. Life as a soulless demon would be great. She didn't quite know where to begin though.

First off, she would have to find Angel and… maneuver him to a little happiness moment. Her lack of soul could be a problem, but she would figure out a way to work around it. Maybe she could use a little of that drug – what was it called? Doxyfox... Or something. She was sure she could find someone that she could… convince to give her a little.

If she loosened Angel up a bit he would surely be happy to let her… turn him over to her way of thinking. And she had no doubt she would be able to make the soul go all skippy if she could just get her hands on Angel. Well, not mainly her hands of course… She had some wicked moves, and she would be glad to use them on him.

Maybe she should torture him for a while first. She smirked to herself when she pictured Angel finding Cordelia's corpse in his bed. Wesley's severed head would look great as a decoration in Angel's office. Oh, yes. She would use everything she had learned from Angelus to torture Angel to… well, not death. She didn't want to kill him, not physically anyway.

She would have to settle for torturing him to a point that would fascinate Angelus and make him proud. After that, she could drug him and give him a nice moment of perfect happiness. She and Angelus would cut a bloody swatch through every country on the face of the earth, maybe Angelus could upgrade his nickname from the Scourge of Europe to the Scourge of the World, she thought enthusiastically. Well, that sounded lame. Maybe he could come up with a better name. Then she would…

Buffy didn't have time to form any other plans before she felt a sharp pain in the back of her head. In her disoriented state she saw three men standing behind her, but she was too out of it to fight back. She was reeling back and forth for a second before everything went black and she slumped to the ground in a heap. She didn't notice a thing when the figures carried her out of the sewer, carrying her over to a man that was waiting further away in a dark street corner.

"Restrain her before she comes to again," Quentin Travers said sternly, stepping out of the shadows. He glanced at the still form on the ground.

"Did it work, sir?"

"I worked out just the way I hoped it would. The ferula gemina split Buffy Summers into two different entities. If this device works as it should, it will be enough to kill one to make the other one perish as well."

"So what are you waiting for?" Weatherby said sharply and raised his stake. "Let's just slay it here!"

"No." Quentin's voice was calm, but left no room for argument. "We bring the demon back to England and notify Angelus of its whereabouts. After we've drawn him to London, we terminate them both."

"Sir, with all your respect… I think the safest way to kill this demon is to simply take it out right now."

"We want Angelus as well. This matter is of no importance unless we kill them both. There is another active Slayer, one that has already shown willingness to abuse her powers… and if Angelus is firm on keeping a turned Slayer as a mate, he will take her as well. We need to end this permanently."

"But sir…"

"Do you find it difficult to follow orders?" Quentin interrupted with a stern glare.

"Of course not."

"Then load her in the truck, and make sure that the restraints are tight enough. We will return to England as soon as possible."

* * *

The doors were swinging behind Buffy when she entered the Hyperion. Angel was hurrying his steps right behind her, but she didn't even wait for him before she disappeared upstairs. 

"Bucah hunt go alright?" Cordelia asked from her desk as soon as she heard them coming, but Buffy ignored her completely.

Cordelia was feeling a little better now, the Seltrax had done its job and the throbbing headache from before was now only a dull pain in the back of her head. She could stand up straight and keep her eyes open without almost fainting from the pain, which was an improvement from just an hour ago.

She just hoped that Angel wouldn't notice that her eyes were red and puffy and her makeup recently re-applied. Well, of course he wouldn't. Vampire or not, he was a _man_. He wouldn't see that she had been in the bathroom fifteen minutes ago, crying quietly from pain and frustration. She glanced at the stairs where Buffy had disappeared.

"Ah, we're in a good mood. Great," she said and turned to Angel instead. "You know, either you're a bad influence, or you pass down your brooding skills to those you've exchanged bodily fluids with," Cordelia said calmly. At Angel's look, she understood how that had come out.

"I mean, those you vampified. Sired, whatever. Then again, we have Drusilla who's a total loom, very non-broody and that little Irish guy… Penn, was it? The only thing you seemed to have given him was the spiky hair."

Angel continued glaring at her; he was clearly not up for joking around. Well, he almost never was, so Cordelia didn't really care about that.

"Hey, maybe you give, like, different properties of yourself to everyone you sire? Buffy got the brood-o-rama, Penn got the stupid hair and Drusilla got the charming sadism and insanity. From Angelus, I mean. I'm sure there are other examples." Angel stared blankly at her. She sighed.

"Okay, I give up. I promise I won't try and perk up the vibe around here anymore, Mr. Big Dark Energy Sucker. I don't mind as long as that's the only thing you suck…" Angel was obviously about to leave, so Cordelia decided to cut to the chase.

"Okay, alright. How did the Bucah hunt go?"

Angel sighed and leaned against the counter next to Cordelia's desk. "Not good. Not at all, actually." Cordelia frowned.

"It wasn't there?"

"Yes, it was, Buffy saw it. She followed it but then she got hit by something, she said it was like an electric shock, and then we lost track of it."

"The Bucah has electro powers? Huh. Strange that I haven't seen any of that in my visions about it."

Angel furrowed his brow. "I know."

"You think it was something else?" Cordelia prodded, thinking about the other thing she had seen in her vision. Yes, the _thing_. She didn't actually know what it was, and considering how the Powers liked to screw with her mind, she assumed that if could simply have been a rabid raccoon or something. Then again…

"Maybe." Angel shrugged. "I-I don't know. I guess Buffy might just be feeling a little low because she lost the demon, but… I'm gonna keep a close eye on her."

* * *

When Buffy woke up, she found herself tightly chained in the back of a small truck. She knew this place. She had been in a truck like this before… but in Faith's body. 

So. Watchers.

Actually, it made perfect sense. They wanted to rid the world of the danger and failure that was a turned Slayer. Damn shit-heads.

Still, she couldn't figure out why they would want to remove her soul for that… if it was really they who did it.

She was still drugged and could barely look straight. She soon gave up trying to count the men sitting in the other end of the truck, guarding her with their crossbows at a ready. Going on visuals, she was pretty sure that there were about… twelve of them. The heartbeats told her that they were only two.

Well, two or twelve, the guys looked more than willing to turn her into a walking pincushion if she so much as moved. Not that she planned to, or could even, really. The question was… what were they going to do to her? She was sure that they had some sort of plan for her – otherwise they would have killed her instantly instead of going through all the trouble of dragging her across the Atlantic to take her back to the Watcher's Council head quarters. And she was pretty sure their agenda wasn't rehabilitation…

Either way, she would sit tight for now, she was sure that Angel had the same weakness that her own ensouled version had for Angelus – he would rescue her for sure. Any minute now. Come to think of it, he couldn't reasonably even _know _that she was soulless yet, could he? That might be a card to play. _When _she got out of here.

The truck slowed down and it became even darker around it. Buffy couldn't hear the sound of the wind outside anymore, so she figured they were probably inside now. In a large, damp garage by the smell and sounds.

"Home at last," she said woozily with a slight smirk at the twelve-looking two men. They didn't even react.

"Oh, come on. What's the matter? Don't you have the guts to look at little me? Big, mighty, brave Counschil men," she slurred slightly. They continued to ignore her.

"Hello-o? Are you like, cyborgs or schomething? 'Hasta la vista vampie', that kinda deal?" Buffy gave up. She would enjoy trying out her newborn lust for taunting and mind games, but not on people who didn't even have enough of a mind to play with.

The car stopped and voices, high pitched, snooty British voices were heard outside. A human would only have heard a muffled mumble from inside the isolated truck, but Buffy could make out what they were saying. Barely. Their voices were loud and painful in her ears, echoing and stinging. They were bickering about the best way to move her from the truck to a cell… and their insecurity would be the perfect opportunity for her to escape… if her legs had only been moving when she told them to.

The back doors opened. Buffy tried to see who it was coming in, but she was blinded by the bright light and had to close her eyes until they stopped flashing strong white spotlights at her. She was still blinking against the light when a large man with a gray beard entered the truck, holding something in his hand. Oh, joy. A tazer. As if she wasn't far enough out of it already.

Without a sound or a warning, the man zapped her in the face with the tazer several times until she felt like her whole body was buzzing. There must be enough electricity in her to light up a small city. It didn't knock her out completely, but it made her even more dizzy and disoriented. Unfortunately. Unconsciousness seemed pretty appealing right now.

The voices around her echoed even more, she could barely make out any words, and everyone was a little blurry around the edges. When she tried to reach out to grab an arm that was extended towards her, she found that her limbs didn't quite move like she wanted them to.

She noticed the three men that were taking her, more like manhandling her, to her cell. They led her inside and pushed her against the wall. She wasn't able to stand upright without support so she staggered into the wall and fell to the floor.

First the only feeling she had was the one of cold, hard concrete against her body and face, but it was soon accompanied by a burning pain in her side. She heard a loud cracking and sort of a crunching sound as one or more of her ribs snapped and quite possibly splintered. One of them, Buffy couldn't make out whom, had kicked her in the side. Hard. She gave a low moan. She barely avoided screaming, refusing to give them the pleasure of showing her pain.

"Bugger, what do you think you're doing!" one of the British voices said. He sounded upset. Buffy tried to see who it was, but the fact that all of the figures were multiplied by three, at least, made it a little hard to discern which of them that were talking.

"What? Protecting vampires now, are you?" another one mocked. "Maybe this one has poisoned you with its perverted mind. Even as a human, a Slayer no less, sworn to fight for the good side, she was making friends with those she was supposed to kill. Little trash." He cleared his throat and spit Buffy in the face. She didn't even react. She felt the gob slowly making its way across her face, but her body didn't move like she commanded it to. Oh, how the Council would suffer for this. With Angelus at her side… they would rain hell over the prigs.

"Mr. Travers clearly said to leave it unharmed."

"Oh, come on, you ponce! I'm not going to kill it, who cares if it's unharmed? It's only still alive to help draw Angelus here. Now come on, let's just sod off."


	2. VISIT FROM OVERSEAS

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CHAPTER 2: VISIT FROM OVERSEAS**

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Buffy was deeply lost in thought when she walked across the lobby in the Hyperion, heading back upstairs. She hadn't been feeling right since last night when she went up against the Bucah, and it should worry her more than it actually did. Angel was worried about her, she could smell it all over him. She was even considering sleeping in another room to get away from his evaluating glance.

Without as much as a warning Buffy felt a stabbing pain in her side, powerful enough to make the world flicker before her eyes. She barely avoided shrieking in surprise and pain, but she still doubled over in pain and clutched her side. Cordelia looked up from the paperwork she was just finishing up at her desk. She glanced at Buffy.

"What are you…?"

"I slipped," Buffy said in a strained voice, answering all too quickly.

"You slipped," Cordelia repeated. "YOU slipped. That's a good one. The little miss likes to fight Slayer, now with the vampire stealthyness package installed as well, _slips_… I don't think so." Buffy didn't answer her. She felt a strong urge to walk up to Cordelia and rip her tongue out, but she didn't say anything.

"Don't think what?" Angel asked as he came down the stairs. Oh goody, Buffy thought. Mr. Bugs-a-lot to the rescue. Again.

"Nothing," Buffy said and forced herself to stand up straight, despite the pain. Angel narrowed his eyes. He was suspicious. Aw, screw you and your super senses, Buffy thought and shot him an evil glare. Of course, that only made him more suspicious.

"Oh, Buffy says she _slipped_, as in almost fell over while walking here on this very even floor. And since _someone_ has yet to see the good points of having a cleaning lady, I can assure you that it isn't because it's squeaky-slippery-clean in here. "

Angel studied Buffy, who refused to meet his gaze. She inched back and forth, wincing slightly a few times. She was hurt, he could sense it even at a distance. He was truly worried about her. First her out-of-character-like behavior the whole day, and now this? It was over 24 hours since she encountered the Bucah. She should be over it by now.

"You slipped," he said. She glared at him, her eyes glistering with raw anger. Why was she so mad at him for caring?

"Yes, I slipped. Nag much?" she snapped. "Ha ha, let's have a laugh on Buffy. You want to talk stumbling, clumsy vampires? I remember when _you_ almost went flying head over heals one time back in Sunnydale."

"They were mopping in the halls," he muttered.

"Yeah, whatever." She stood her ground for a moment before she shook her head and turned to go. "I'm going out," she stated flatly.

When the door had closed behind her, Cordelia spoke in a quiet voice, eagerly aware nowadays that vampire hearing was even better than she had thought. "She's weird lately. I'm telling you, she was not slipping. It looked like she was in pain or something… Very strange."

"Yeah," Angel said absently, his gaze settled on the doors. "Very strange. I'm going out too." He grabbed his coat and hurried after Buffy.

"Everyone's mental health is just blossoming these days," Cordelia muttered when both vampires had disappeared.

"Buffy!" he hollered after her. She stopped when she heard his voice. "Buffy, what's wrong?" He put a hand on her arm, but she shrugged it off, giving him an annoyed look.

"Nothing," she said stubbornly. "I told you." As she placed her hands in her pockets she winced slightly again, which Angel didn't fail to notice.

"So what is this?" he asked and poked her in the side.

"Ow! What the hell are you doing?" she asked angrily and shoved him away.

"Just showing you that I know something _is_ wrong. How did you get that wound? It's still fresh and you haven't been out all day."

"It's none of…"

"And don't say it's none of my business, because it is. I love you Buffy, if something is wrong I want to help. In this case it's even more my business since whatever is wrong with you might be connected to that shock yesterday." Buffy frowned.

"You mean the shock the Bucah gave me." Angel shrugged.

"Or whatever it was. Just tell me." Buffy sighed and finally gave in. Maybe it wouldn't do her any good to fight him. Even though he was mightily annoying right now.

"Okay. Actually, I haven't felt really good since yesterday, and when I…_ slipped_ in the lobby, I felt this numbing pain in my side." She rolled up her shirt far enough for Angel to see the hand sized bruise over her ribs."

Angel looked at it carefully. "It's an ugly looking wound, but I don't think anything is broken. How did you get it?" Buffy threw her hands out, shaking her head.

"That's it, I don't know! I was just walking and wham, there it was." Angel furrowed his brow, clearly worried.

"When the thing in the sewers it hit you… how did it feel?"

"Well you know… like an electric shock. I told you, like getting hit by lightening or something. I flew into the tunnel wall and I was hurting all over and pretty out of it…"

"The demon that did it, did you see it at all?" Buffy shook her head. "Not even a glimpse?" She scowled.

"No!" She felt anger stir up again. Now, she was used to that. Anger and bloodlust and short temper… all of those things were well-known for her nowadays. But this was different.

Angel sighed and put his hands in his pockets, a very mundane move – but for some reason, he stiffened and something seemed to dawn on him. Buffy frowned.

"Angel? What is it?" He looked at her.

"It's gone."

"What?" When he just turned around and half ran back in the direction of the hotel, Buffy got really worried. "Angel, what's gone?" She hurried her steps to keep up with him.

"The piece of Toth's weapon, the ferula gemina. I've had it with me ever since I took it when I was Angelus," he answered without breaking stride.

Buffy couldn't really understand why that was so alarming. "So? So much has happened since that. Everything with Angelus, then the trip to Salt Lake City…" Buffy continued talking as they entered the hotel again. "Couldn't you have lost it somewhere along the line? Maybe you, I mean, Angelus-you just threw it away when he realized it was worthless." Angel shook his head.

"No, I didn't. I clearly remember it being there the night when you got hurt, and I've kept it inside a closed pocket. Someone took it…" Angel remembered the little greasy weasel from the Council that was snooping through their things at the motel that morning. The only outside person who might want to hurt them that'd had access to his coat.

"And I think I know who."

* * *

"Mr. Travers, there are two people here to see you."

Quentin was currently figuring out the most effective way to notify Angelus about the whereabouts of his mate, well, at least half of her anyway. He needed Angelus angry enough to come to England without giving it much thought, but still, he didn't want the vampire out of control. He was a very dangerous creature after all.

"I can't be bothered right now," he said, clearly annoyed.

"I think you should see these people, sir. They claim they're representing a firm in Los Angeles…"

"A firm?" Quentin interrupted with a look. "What sort of firm?"

"Um… perhaps you should just meet with them. Apparently they have an offer of some kind, concerning Angelus." Quentin frowned, trying to imagine what sort of firm would be interested in doing something about Angelus. He waved his hand.

"Send them in."

Quentin watched with a slight frown as two people, a man and a woman, made their way into his office. They were probably about the same height even if woman's heels gave her the appearance of being taller. Quentin lowered his gaze and saw the plastic prosthetic that was in the place where the man's right hand should have been. His face held a slightly grim look but overall his suit clad appearance was proper and strict.

"Mr. Travers," the woman began. "I'm Lilah Morgan; this is my… partner Lindsay McDonald. We are the current heads of the Special Projects Department at Wolfram & Hart in Los Angeles." She gave him her card. He glanced at it briefly before putting it down on the desk, his face turning into a deep scowl.

"Attorney's? I was told this had something to do with the vampire Angelus." The man stepped forward.

"It has. You see Mr. Travers; our firm has a lot of branches. We deal both in the natural and the supernatural. We have a particular interest in this… being, and we would like to offer you our, Wolfram & Harts, help to bring him down."

Quentin looked at him, slightly amused. As if neatly dressed, _American_ lawyers would be able to help them with Angelus. "Is that so?"

"Yes. Our firm has suffered horrible loss due to Angelus. He's killed several of our clients, stolen valuable objects from our offices, and the most recent event was when he killed our former president of the Special Projects Division, Mr. Holland Manners. He was…" a beat as Lindsay seemed to choose his words. "Mr Manners was deeply loved man that devoted his life to the company."

"Ah." Quentin flipped through the pile of papers he had on his desk just to indicate his indifference. "I see you as well have suffered a substantial loss," he said indicating Lindsay's hand. "How did that happen? If you don't mind me asking, of course." There was a slightly forced look on Lindsay's face as he answered.

"Yes, _Angelus_ did this as well," he said between clenched teeth. "He attacked us during a sacred ritual… he did this and stole the Prophecies of Aberjian we until then had in our possession. However, this has nothing to do with personal vengeance. It's the world that matters," he said with an empowering gesture.

Quentin nodded thoughtfully and was quiet for a minute. "The Watcher's Council of Britain accepts your offer to help us bring down Angelus. Please, have a seat." He gestured towards two chairs.

"We're planning on summon Angelus here in the near future. When he's here and captured, he will be killed. How would you say your firm could contribute?"

"Mr. Travers, we have every type of team you can imagine, we know of every poison, have every file on Angelus there is. You tell us where you want back up, and we will aid you. So…" Lindsay looked at him. "How are you planning on drawing Angelus here?"

"We're going to use his mate." Lilah nodded.

"The turned Slayer?"

"Yes. I assume you know about the recent events in Sunnydale, when Angelus was split into two different beings."

Lindsay nodded. "Of course."

"Then you know that the type of demon that did it is now extinct, and its weapon was destroyed. However, our extensive research told us that a new ferula gemina could always be made if you have a piece of the weapon. Our sources told us that Angelus had a piece and it proved to be true. One of our men grabbed it from him and his mate in Salt Lake City and we forged a new one here in England."

"And you plan to use this device on his mate?"

"That part has already come to pass. We have his mate, or technically a part of it, in custody." Lindsay frowned.

"Really." Before he could say anything else, a loud beeping interrupted him.

"I'm very sorry, that's our cue to go back to L.A. We'll stay in touch on the matter."

"Of course."

"Good bye Mr. Travers, it was very nice to meet you."

"Likewise," he answered neutrally, showing no emotion to prove that he meant it, which he didn't.

When Lindsay and Lilah were well out of the Council's Headquarters and back in their limo that would take them to the firm's private jet, Lilah spoke.

"Do you think he bought it? That we're actually going to help them, I mean."

Lindsay shrugged.

"Don't know, don't care. The important thing is that we know what they're planning to do and how. The fact that our plans for Angel is something completely different from killing him… they have no way of knowing."

* * *

"Here it is!" Cordelia exclaimed from behind her computer.

Angel had explained his fear of what might have happened to Buffy, a short version of it anyway, and now they were researching Toth, checking for resurrection powers and alike. Angel feared that the Council, with the help of the piece of the ferula gemina, might have been able to resurrect it, or possibly summon another long dead member of the supposedly extinct Tothric clan.

They couldn't find him in any of their books and when Cordelia had resorted to the internet, no one thought she would actually find anything. However, the data base "Demons, Demons, Demons" had once again proved useful.

Angel quickly dropped his research material and walked up to Cordelia. Wesley put down his book and concentrated on what Cordelia was about to say.

"So? What does it say?" Angel asked impatiently. Buffy was up in her room and he wasn't sure if she was just sulking or maybe brooding about what he thought had happened to her. No matter which, she hadn't volunteered to help with the research, much to Cordelia's discontent. To be more effective in their research, they had called Gunn instead. He wasn't too happy about being stuck in a room full of books for several hours, but he had joined in without any complaints.

"Hmm…" Cordelia began, scanning through the text. "Toth, Tothric clan… Strong, sophisticated – which evidently means he likes to fight with weapons and devices, not barehanded…"

"Something of interest?" Angel snapped. Cordelia shot him a look.

"Feel free to do this by yourself if you think I don't work fast enough." He looked away.

"I'm sorry. It's just… Can you find _anything_ on resurrection?" Cordelia turned her head back to the screen shrugged.

"Nope. Nothing about resurrection powers, apparently these guys stay dead when you slice them to little pieces."

"Hmm." Angel frowned. He cocked his head when he heard the sound of a door opening from upstairs. It didn't take more than a minute before he heard Buffy's footsteps coming down the stairs; slowly and hesitantly, but at least she was coming down.

She came all the way over to them and leaned against the counter, at least seeming to listen. Hopefully she was ready to take a little interest after all, Angel thought. He locked eyes with Buffy for a second. She looked… tired. Annoyed… maybe a little sick of everything going on. An _that_ was understandable.

"Found something?" she asked tiredly.

"We will," Angel assured her, avoiding to reveal that they hadn't actually found anything at all yet. "At least it seems that Toth can't resurrect himself." Buffy nodded.

"Good. That's… good." She sighed. "What about his, uh… that thing. His… spatula whatmina?"

"Yeah, the ferula gemina," Angel corrected automatically. He glanced at Cordelia. "Can you find that?"

"Just a moment." Angel watched as Cordelia clicked, and typed, and clicked again, and scrolled… Now, he could handle a computer by himself if he had to, but he was glad to have Cordelia there to do it instead.

"Ah, here it is. Ferula gemina, device that splits a being into two different entities… Blah, blah, blah… What's needed to rejoin the two again – it's that weird ritual that requires a piece of the weapon and the demon's blood…"

"We already know that," Angel said, forcing himself not to snap at her again.

"Yeah. You need that, or a little witch willing to risk life and limb. Not just her own," Cordelia muttered. Angel rubbed his head.

"Okay, here. If the ferula gemina is destroyed, a new one can always be forged from a piece of it. You need to boil the piece in some sort of mixture and say some incantation, and if it's done right, a new ferula gemina will appear."

"That must be it," Angel said quietly, furrowing his brow. He looked back at Buffy. "That must be what happened in the sewers." Buffy looked away. The more he saw of her, the more sure he became that something was definitely missing… as in 50 percent of her, to be more specific.

Cordelia, Gunn and Wesley exchanged a glance, all thinking the same thing. It was Wesley who spoke up.

"Angel…" he began. "I'm sorry to say, I think you're grasping at straws. For one thing, the piece of the weapon could have been lost at any time from when you were in Salt Lake City to… well, today really. Not to mention, why would the Council go through so much trouble to get yet another Buffy? If it works the same way on her as it did on you… It would mean that one of them, the other one if what you're thinking is actually true, is soulless."

"So, what – we're expecting like the Angelus version of Buffy to show up?" Gunn summarized. "Sorry man, but it sounds kinda far fetched."

"We're not saying you're insane or anything," Cordelia said. "Just that you're…well, not making the sense of a sane person right now." Angel shot her a glare.

Buffy shook her head. "Guys, this is ridiculous. Like I wouldn't know if a part of me was running around on its own somewhere."

Angel looked at her seriously. Her attitude concerning the matter made him even more convinced. If this was really Buffy, the complete version, she should be more interested… more worried.

"I didn't, remember," he reminded her. "I felt that something was off, but I never would have been able to see _what_ was missing."

Buffy sighed and raised her gaze, suddenly seeming very interested in the ceiling. "And what about that bruise?" Angel continued. "When the ferula gemina splits a person, the other half will die if you kill one of them. Maybe injuries rubs off on the other half as well, I never got the chance to try that when it happened to me."

Buffy shrugged and continued to stare at the sealing, the walls, the weapons cabinet, everything except Angel, Cordelia, Gunn and Wesley.

"Still, Angel. You have no reliable evidence. We need more to go on."

"And how do you suggest we get more to go on?" Angel shot back. "I'm just saying, _if_ they've done something… we need to act fast."

"Yes, I agree, but what can we do?" To that, Angel had no answer. He had no idea how to get in contact with the Council, and even if they could do it through Wesley or even Giles, what were they supposed to say? 'Oh hi watchers, so I was just wondering, did you by any chance happen to split Buffy in two?' He shrugged and looked away.

"So," Cordelia began warily. "I guess the question is, sow do we find out what actually has happened and what's just your vampy imagination doing its… imaginary thing?" she asked, looking directly at Angel.

"I don't know," Angel said, discouraged. "I guess we can't do much right now. I just hope that I'm wrong… and that this won't blow up in our faces any time soon."


	3. XYLOPHONE BONE

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**CHAPTER 3: XYLOPHONE BONE**

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Buffy was bored.

Very bored.

Hugely bored.

In fact, she was so bored that she thought she might have fallen asleep and was having a really boring dream. The bars in her cell, cold and hard, digging in to her head as she leaned her forehead against them, told her something else though – that she wasn't dreaming.

Reality really was this boring.

Things were just as bad as they felt. Maybe even worse. Apart from being bored, she was hungry and her side still hurt. It had been over a day since she had been put in this cell, but since she hadn't gotten the tiniest glass of blood – she had even offered to take vermin blood but everyone ignored her, her wounds healed very slowly.

She could still feel the broken ribs under her skin if she let her fingers run over her ribcage. When she tapped on the broken bones, she could hear the small splinters grind against each other. It hurt quite a bit, but she didn't have anything else to do, and as the matter of fact, the pain was not a totally negative experience anymore. She liked it.

What she didn't like was that her current prison was very small and limited and the bars were completely unbendy, she had already tried them.

"Hello?" she said into the darkness. "I'm all alone here… So alone and bored. I mean, I'm playing xylophone on my broken bones here; can't you give me anything to do? Maybe a Rubix Cube… of the human variety? Okay. I'll settle for a kitten if you don't want to use any one of your poncy watchers."

She listened. Not a soul was there to hear her. Not an un-soul either for that matter. "Got anything to eat around here?" she tried. "Or anyone?" Still no answer. She sighed. As far as she could tell, all the other cells in this small, cold and strangely smelling prison were empty. She was completely alone.

Outside the sun was coming up again, Buffy could tell even if she had nothing resembling a window in her cell. When she had her soul, she had never really honed her senses and given in to them completely. Such a pathetic creature… but now she was herself again… her true self. And her true self had no problem with estimating the time just on feeling, like Angel told her that she would be able to.

She had felt all the bricks, all the cement; there was no way of pulling a Houdini here. She couldn't hear any dripping of water, so she was fairly sure that her cell wasn't located near any sewer tunnels.

Once again Buffy tapped her wounded side and listened to the crunching sound. Okay, this was dull. It frustrated her that she couldn't do something herself to get her out of here. She would just have to wait until Angel came and rescued her... and she wasn't fond of being powerless.

It bothered her that Angel hadn't made an appearance yet. Okay, so she was soulless, but hey, even when _she_ was simpering and good she hadn't ignored him when he didn't have his soul. To not safe his girlfriend just because she happened to be evil, that was… something-ism. And how could he know that she was sans soul anyway? Even she had to study him to see the difference…

If they hadn't captured him as well, that was. It was a possibility – the Council had seemed awfully keen on killing Angel as well. If she had her soul, she would be worried what might have happened to him and what they might have done to him if they really had taken him as well… but as it was she was just pissed. Pissed about being here. Pissed because she was hungry. Pissed because her ribs were flaked. Pissed because Angelus wasn't there with her.

Pissed, pissed, pissed.

She still hadn't been able to figure out what really had happened to her in that sewer tunnel. How had that jolt made her loose her soul? There was definitely no moment of perfect happiness involved… That, and the drug Cordelia had told her about were the only things that had been able to dig through Angel's curse anyway. Hmm.

Well, apart from when he had been shot by Toth, but that didn't count. Toth was dead and his race extinct. Still… What had Angel and Angelus told her about what happened when Toth split them? He had a rod like weapon, shot Angel… and when Angelus had woken up, he had been alone at first, thinking that… that the shock he got from Toth had allowed him to take over the body… She frowned as the possibility slowly dawned on her.

Oh, no.

What if that was what had happened to her too? That would mean that her ensouled version was still running around out there, probably being the reason to why Angel wasn't looking for her. Buffy growled to herself. There was one thing or two she would like to do to her sulking, gooey version that most likely would stand in the way of her plans of restoring Angel to his true self. She yanked the bars furiously. She couldn't do anything at the moment - nothing except standing here.

Standing here, and playing Xylophone Bone.

* * *

Cordelia, being the upbeat type of person, was trying hard to keep the mood up even during difficult times. As for example right now, when there was possibly an evil version of Buffy running around somewhere. Sure, it was farfetched, but it could be true. Angel seemed to think for sure that it was. Buffy was sulking, he was brooding – Wesley was wandering around and muttering and Gunn, he mostly scowled and shook his head when he was around. Cordelia tried her best to keep everyone's heads just over the surface.

She didn't have much for maintaining her positive breeze, though. She had asked Angel if it was appropriate to call the potential evil version "Buffus" to keep the two separate. That had made him glare and go upstairs, leaving Cordelia alone in the lobby. Wesley was in Angel's office at the moment, looking for a book. She could see his thoughtful frown and hear his muttering even from this far away. Gunn was downstairs in the basement looking for a weapon of some kind.

Being bored and alone, it wasn't really strange that Cordelia was more than willing to help the tall, well built, quite handsome and fairly young suit clad man that stepped into the lobby. She smiled broadly and approached him.

"Hi, I'm Cordelia Chase, co senior partner here at Angel Investigations. We solve big problems for small prices – how can we help you?" She flashed her smile again when she had walked all the way up to him.. The man just nodded slightly, completely unimpressed by the look of it. Cordelia frowned. Strange, he didn't _look_ gay.

"Hello, I'm Mr. Robert Smythe," he said, rather dryly. Or maybe it was just his short, British accent that made him sound dry… Cordelia stiffened. Was it really a coincidence that a British, very watcher like guy showed up on their doorstep… right now?

"Uh-huh…" she began nervously, inching. So this guy was part of the gang that wanted to hunt down Angel and turn him inside out… and were willing to kill all his and Buffy's friends while doing it. Nice crowd. She had started to view the Watcher's Council a bit differently lately.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, swallowing hard.

"I'm here for… Angel. Is he around?" The guy seemed to survey the lobby suspiciously. What was he going to do? Jump him right here? Signal his gang outside to storm the place… maybe he was a suicide bomber. Did the Council have suicide bombers? Well, who would know. She let her gaze run over him. He looked too posh for that… then again, did a suicide bomber really have a special look to them?

Cordelia became more and more nervous as she let her imagination run away with her. But something must be wrong; otherwise one lonely, unarmed Watcher wouldn't come here. Not like this.

"He's… upstairs, I think," Cordelia answered warily.

"Yes, well…"

"Why don't you sit down and I'll get Angel," she interrupted, having the feeling that he should definitely be here for this.

"Not necessary," the man broke off. "I have a message for Angel, just give him this letter." The man pulled out a small white and sealed envelope from his coat pocket and put it on the counter for Cordelia to take. She took it reluctantly. The man was obviously about to leave and she had no idea how to get him to stay.

"Why don't you stay for a while? _Angel_ is the type of guy that likes to meet people in person, you know," she tried. The Watcher stared blankly at her.

"Heh heh… Yes, that's how our ANGEL is." She said his name loudly, hoping that he would hear it from upstairs and come down. She stared at the top of the stairs, but no one appeared. She felt annoyed – that bat like hearing of his was clearly selective. At least her attempts resulted in something; Wesley heard her and came out from Angel's office.

"Cordelia, I heard you speaking, is there someone…" Wesley froze when he saw the man in the lobby.

"You…" he said, recognizing him. His eyes narrowed and his whole stance became stiffer. Cordelia grimaced.

"So you two know each other? Or is this just some long-live-the-queen-Brit-recognition-thing?"

"This is Rob Smythe, trained at the Watcher's Academy and Quentin Travers right hand," Wesley said, his voice dark. "One could wonder what errand you might possibly have here." He approached Smythe. "Then again, perhaps one actually already knows," he said, his voice slightly threatening.

"He left this letter," Cordelia said, waving the envelope and watching the standoff between the two. They looked like dogs, or wolves, or something that were about to get into a fight. Wesley towered slightly over Smythe and actually looked sort of imposing. In the middle of everything Cordelia couldn't help but smile slightly at that. Wesley – imposing. Where did the Watcher-headboy-weasel from only last year go?

"Cordelia, why don't you go get Angel while I keep our visitor company," he said coldly, his gaze still fixed on Smythe. Cordelia quickly disappeared upstairs without a word.

Smythe snorted and turned around to leave, but Wesley stopped him. Smythe tried to shrug off his hand, but Wesley spun him around, smacking him against the wall and keeping him firmly in place.

"By the Watcher's Council of Britain, I COMMAND you to get your hands off of me!" Robert said in something meant to be an authority's voice. Wesley smiled grimly.

"That doesn't work on me anymore, Smythe. Perhaps ten years ago…" He chuckled a little. "Hell, perhaps one year ago, but not now. You'll find that a lot's happened to me since I worked for the Council."

"Yes, I can see that you've become corrupted and are socializing with the demons you promised by oath to work against," Smythe spat, the disgust clear and his voice. Wesley shook his head, almost saddened by the ignorance from his old colleague. Black and white, it was all that existed within the Council. No shades of gray, and no color. Only black and white, good and evil.

"I still fight evil. Buffy and Angel are different – they have their souls. I never took an oath to battle righteous creatures who participates in the struggle against evil just as much as you, the Council, are. Or more."

"That's nice," Smythe scoffed. "And have you thought about what happens the next time something changes that? A trigger is pulled, a curse is broken… another loophole or exception appears?" Smythe looked at him gravely. "_Righteous_ or not… not even you can say that they are reliable in their argued goodness." Wesley shook his head, smirking slightly.

"Reliable? Who is _reliable _these days? I would say Buffy and Angel are much more reliable than most people. For them… it would take loosing their souls to turn evil. For a human, loosing ones interest, changing ones mood… tiring of authorities or rules… is quite enough. Just look at_ my_ Slayer."

"She was an exception."

"Hmm." Wesley shrugged slightly. "I suppose it's farfetched, but it would be nice to see the Council work with an open mind for once. Perhaps you could learn something."

"The Council fails to see the purpose to why a vampire would have a conscience." Wesley chuckled.

"Because," he said in an amused voice, "the _vampire's_ soul… Angel's soul, is the only thing keeping him from tearing the skin from your body in little curling ribbons and wearing them as a hat." He turned serious.

"I'm not joking, believe me. Buffy and Angel are powerful warriors against the darkness, and it's _you _lot who are too stupid to see it." Smythe shook his head and Wesley realized that his words were in vain. This man was too far gone, far too twisted around the Council's little finger. He had a hard time imagining anything less than extensive lobotomies changing their opinion about Angel and Buffy.

Maybe it was lucky that the conversation was stopped short when Angel, Buffy and Cordelia came down the stairs. Angel took point when he headed across the lobby, striding towards Wesley and Smythe. His face seemed blank, but Wesley could see the rage hidden just beneath the surface, barely controlled, barely restrained. Angel knew it, he knew it; they all knew it. For Quentin Traver's little helped to show up like this, something must be going on.

Something bad.

"Well looky here," Angel said, immediately turning on a somewhat threatening stance. Perhaps it wasn't very wise; perhaps doing what he did – taking advantage of his demon and his reputation to scare Smythe – only strengthened the Council's argument… but Angel was too worried and too angry to care about that.

"A watcher," he said with an edge in his voice. "Just the thing I wanted to show up in my lobby right now." Smythe looked at the vampire, making no effort to hide his disgust. Angel walked up to him and looked at him with a slight grin. Soul or not, it excited his demon to hear the watcher's heart rate speed up at the mere sight of him.

"You know who I am, don't you?" he asked. Smythe furrowed his brow, not sure how to react. Should he react at all? Even answering the vampire would mean sinking to a certain level on which he didn't feel at all comfortable. Was Angelus toying with him? He knew all about his mindgames. He had read all about them.

"Hmm?" Angel demanded. Smythe cleared his throat.

"Of course I do," he answered finally.

"Good. Then you'd do well to remember the files your Council has on Angelus." He stepped closer.

"He lurks just under the surface every – single – second. You hurt Buffy and I might be inclined not to fight him very hard. You realize what Angelus would do with someone like you, don't you… Robbie?"

Angel faked a cruel smile. It wasn't him, it wasn't his impulses – not really, but still they felt so familiar and so natural… and they worked beautifully on Smythe, who swallowed and nodded. Angel could smell the stench of sweat curling off of him like smoke.

"Perfect." Taking the Watcher by surprise Angel lunged at him, grabbed him roughly and threw him back against the couch, leaning in over him. "So start talking," he hissed, his voice leaving no room for arguments or hesitation.


	4. HEADING TO THE FUNNYFARM

_A/N: I had planned to update sooner, but then my laptop just died on me. Fortunately resurrection was successful. Still, I'm a little disappointed in you guys. One review? Thank you Malakhim, and to the rest of you; feel free to pay the button to the left a visit. Pretty please?  
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**CHAPTER 4: HEADING TO THE FUNNY FARM**

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Cordelia looked at her watch. She was supposed to be at the hospital in forty minutes for her examination. The last time she was there… the doctor had said something about numerous tests that she didn't remember the names of, and a cat scan… something that apparently would be useful to see what was going on inside her head.

She raised her gaze and looked towards Angel's office. He was in there, brooding. Yeah, how unusual, Angel brooding. This time he definitely had something to brood about, though. What Smythe had told them…. Well, it was a lot to take in. Cordelia suspected that Angel had known it somehow, but still. Of course it was a shock.

So, during this hard time for Angel… why was she even standing here? Why was she even considering sharing her problem with him, putting another burden on his shoulders? She didn't want him to know, she didn't want anyone to know. She wanted the doctor to tell her that the reason why her so called migraines had become so much worse was that she needed an iron supplement or that she needed to drink more water… something like that. Something simple, silly.

But deep down, she knew that he wouldn't say that.

She hadn't told anyone. Not anyone. In silence she had fought her headaches, cried in the bathroom, whined only before Phantom Dennis and insisted on getting stronger and stronger painkillers on prescription. As far as Angel and Wesley knew, she was still taking only aspirin after her visions, and the pain was gone within maybe an hour, tops. Well, maybe it had been like that in the beginning. Like a year ago… just after Doyle died.

Doyle. She smiled faintly to herself at the memory of him. If Doyle was here, she would have told him. At least she was pretty sure that she would. Doyle was nice, and he didn't judge… and he _liked_ her. It was rare.

Sure, she had more ex-boyfriends from High School than most, but none of them had really liked her. A few of them had absolutely loved her father's money, some her good looks and popularity… and maybe Xander had cared about her in a way, but no one had ever liked her because of and despite of everything she was. Doyle had. So, he had been a drunken little weasel… but in a good way.

And now he was dead.

It wasn't like she wasn't friends with Angel and Wesley, too, but it was something else. There was so much going on around them all now, the last thing they needed was her spilling her guts about her problems. She would be fine. Doyle had the visions for years, and he had been fine… well, sort of.

Still. Maybe she needed to talk to someone.

* * *

Angel was sitting in his office, brooding. Now that was a new look for him. He had just sent Rob Smythe back to England; still in one piece, just a little bruised. It hadn't taken long for the Watcher to crack – figuratively that was, unfortunately. As soon as Angel had started talking about chainsaws and for how long he had wanted to see how many pieces he could get out of a Watcher, the words had poured out of him. He sighed. The news wasn't good. 

Angel held the letter that Smythe had brought with him in his hand. The message was short, but it told him everything it needed to. His theory had been right. The Council had Buffy – half of her anyway, and they would kill her unless he didn't show up in London to surrender himself within four days. Killing their part of Buffy… Soulless-Buffy, of course also meaning killing his Buffy. Buffy-Buffy.

What to do? Right now he was caught in a maelstrom without any idea how to get out. He was willing to surrender himself, even though he was pretty sure Buffy wouldn't agree, if he could be sure that they would really let Buffy go, re-integrate her and leave her alone. But he wasn't sure of that. In fact, he was completely sure that they would do just the opposite.

Going up against the Council was… hard. Wesley had taken him aside and told him that, after Angel had kicked out the Watcher, letting the door hit him in his ass on the way out. Literally.

Wesley had said that now that the Council actually had Buffy in custody in their head quarters in England… getting close to her would be most difficult. Wesley had compared the Council the Wolfram & Hart in the sense of being everywhere all at once. They could be supervising train stations, main roads, air ports waiting for him to come to London. Once they had him trapped they could kill Buffy without much effort and take him out as well.

Angel had then thanked Wesley for being so positive and retreated to his room. Still, he knew Wesley was right. He had been on the inside for years… his whole life, even. His father was a Watcher; Wesley himself had been trained at the Watcher's Academy and completely shaped by them. He knew more about them than most.

He looked up when he heard her steps outside the door. They were hesitant and light – she still wasn't sure if she should actually go inside his office. He waited. He heard her take a deep breath, purely for courage. After all, she didn't need to breathe. The door opened.

"Hi." Buffy looked at him.

"Hey." He looked at her. She was nervous. She walked up to his desk.

"Angel, I need to talk to you about something… and I need you to really listen."

Angel crossed his arms over his chest, the perfect listening posture, at least for the way he thought this conversation would to go. She paced nervously back and forth, avoiding looking straightly at him.

"We can't do this."

"This?" He stared at her.

"Yeah, this. The putting-in-danger-thing." She let her gaze run over him for a second before she looked away again.

"I'm putting your friend's lives in danger… and I'm putting your life in danger." Angel didn't say anything, but his expression read "so what?"

"Just… leave it. This is too hard, we can't fight them from a disadvantage like this. Just let them have me."

Angel looked sadly at her. This was Buffy. The same girl who had scoffed at danger, defied the Council with a mocking laugh and killed so-called invincible demons with a flick of her little finger… and now she wanted to give up this easily. It was tragic and poignant at the same time. Strangely true to her new character… one that he was responsible for.

"No." It was all he said; "no". Nothing further was needed.

"Angel, help me make this right. We can't let them toy with us like this. The only way to win this battle is to make it our own."

"By letting them kill you?" He shook his head. "Buffy, this is not the way. Even_ if_ they actually would leave me alone if I let them kill you, I wouldn't let them and you know it." Buffy shrugged.

"Who knows." She turned away and sighed. Her shoulders were slumped, her stance forced and tired.

"I sacrificed you to save the world once. Maybe there would have been another way, I didn't _know_. Not for sure anyway. I realized it was the only thing I could do that I knew would save everyone… and so I did it. I'm asking you do to the same thing."

"This isn't the world we're saving, Buffy," Angel shot back, startled at how desperately weary she sounded. It had occurred to him that this plead for death might not be so much for the "greater good" as much as for herself… she wanted to die. And she wanted him to help her do it. He swallowed. Of course, it was just a theory. He could be wrong.

Please, how he hoped to be wrong.

"When you sacrificed me, there was no choice. It was me or the world…This time there is a choice. This is about a Council full if stuffy British men who don't like it because they can't control you anymore… because you and me are annoyances that don't fit in to their description of what good and evil is, how it works and should be dealt with. It's a little different than the whole world getting sucked to hell. My friends can handle themselves. They put themselves in danger everyday because of me and the Powers… it's their choice, and if they were afraid of the Council, they could just walk away from this."

"Yeah, but…"

"No but. Get the idea out of your head, I'm not letting them kill you. Never. No stakings or torchings whatsoever."

"I was actually thinking that they would cut my head off," she said with a wry smile.

He just wanted to hold her. Hold her and make everything right… no. Make everything seem a little less horrible, making them _seem_ right. Because actually making things right… he didn't had the power to do that.

"Are you sure Cordelia would agree with your rousing speech there? 'Cause unless you haven't noticed, we haven't exactly been the best of friends… ever, actually. Not really convinced she loves putting her life on the line for me, you know."

"Cordelia has lived through a year of agonizing migraines that come with messages – messages for me, to help me in my fight for redemption. She'll be alright."

"Hmm." She leaned against his desk and he let his eyes remain on her, hoping that she would get the hint and slip down into his lap. She looked away again, her fingertips nervously tapping the table.

"It's just… so hard. For the maybe, oh say 225th time this fall… I have no idea what to do. No idea how do deal with things. I just want it to end, you know."

Angel swallowed. "It?"

"It. The hardness. Do thinks ever become easier?" Angel remained silent. She looked at him, some form of hope gleaming in her eyes.

"What do you want me to answer to that?" he asked finally in a raspy voice.

"Just tell me that some day… things will get better." Her voice wasn't much more than a whisper. He extended a hand towards her and put it over hers, pulling her in, softly dragging her into his embrace. She didn't resist it, and she didn't say anything else. She knew he couldn't give her an honest answer to that. Anything he would say would be a lie… maybe a good lie, but still. He had given her enough false promises to last a lifetime.

No. To last for an eternity.

Letting sadness overwhelm her, again, she put her arms around him and tucked her head in the crook of her his neck. She had always liked to rest her head there, and even more so after she became a vampire. Even if he didn't have a pulse there, something that indicated that hot, living blood was pulsating through there, it had a special meaning to her… to _what_ she was.

She placed a kiss there, just above where his shoulder and his neck connected. She felt her face change after just a moment. It was instinct, really. Her demon stirring under the surface, ready to drink, ready to kill. Angel was the only one she had bitten, the only one her demon would ever get to use its innate want on. He didn't mind, and even though she was disturbed by the fact that it was so comforting to her… hell, who would care.

He closed his eyes when he felt her fangs sink through his skin. It didn't hurt. Not in a bad way. He had played these games so many times before, with Darla, and Drusilla… and many others. But with Buffy, it was different. It wasn't just a pleasurable experience, because he knew she wouldn't do it if she felt good.

They both jumped when the office door swung open and revealed Cordelia, who looked as surprised as they. She was actually speechless for a few seconds… or thrown off? Not expecting to see this when she opened the door? It took a while before her snappy comment actually left her lips.

"Oh, God, was she sucking your blood? Ew! This is just – too gross for words…"

Buffy hid her face in Angel's chest. He could feel her tiny body start to tremble in a way he hadn't felt since the few days after she first became a vampire.

"Cordelia, don't you have the sense of decency to knock on a door before opening it?" Angel hissed between clenched teeth. He could see a sting of hurt in Cordelia's eyes, something telling him that maybe she had actually opened that door because she had something important on her mind… but her untactful behavior had frightened and shamed Buffy, and it was all that was needed for him not to care at the moment.

"Well, yeah, but you two can't have groiny moments, so I didn't think you'd be doing anything else equally gross."

She felt stupid. So when she finally had gathered all her courage to go and talk to Angel about her problems, she had intruded in what was clearly a very intimate moment. And Cordelia's protective mechanism didn't tell her to apologize, shut the door and come back later – it told her to cover everything that might make her seem vulnerable. That was best done through harsh and thoughtless comments.

"Being you two though I should probably have figured you'd be doing something yucky and fangy instead now that you both…" she continued before Angel cut it off.

"Was there a point to your intrusion?" he interrupted coldly.

A point? Like spilling her heart out all over his desk – ew, not in a literal way – and hoping that he would have answers and want to comfort her just like he did with Buffy right now? Yeah, right, she was going to tell him _that._

"We finally got a check from Mr. Banks," she said lamely, realizing how stupid the excuse sounded. Had they even had a client named Mr. Banks?

"Out, shut the door," Angel practically snarled, too angry to see Cordelia's sad and deserted expression when she turned and disappeared.

* * *

Quentin hurried back to his office. The preparations for the meeting with Angelus would have to be cut short due to the recent events in Los Angeles. Apparently Rob Smythe hadn't followed his orders and gotten out of the vampire's stronghold as fast as he could – he had even managed to get himself captured. He wasn't dead, only a little beaten and bruised and currently in the Council's private plane back to London. He had told Quentin on the phone that he'd tried to keep a stiff upper lip, but when Angelus had started to talk about chainsaws… he had felt _forced_ to speak. 

What a ponce, he thought to himself. Quentin wasn't one to separate Angelus from his made up so called second identity "Angel". He didn't think that the fact that he had a soul now made him less responsible for his past crimes – or less capable of committing similar deeds again, soul or not. He was a vampire after all, not a human, and a vampire was always a demon – Angelus even being among the worst to ever walk the earth.

However, not even he thought that the ensouled version of Angelus would actually torture a person to death just like that. When Angelus was without his soul it was a different matter entirely – they had all heard about the hours of physical and mental torture he had put Rupert Giles through one time.

"Nancy?" Quentin spoke to his secretary. "Nancy, make sure that we get notified as soon as Buffy Summers and Angelus arrives in the country. Make sure that every airport is under supervision. And contact that law firm in Los Angeles; tell them to have an assault team ready, but just as back up."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

"Angel, this is madness! If you just go blind into this, they'll kill both of us!" 

A day had passed since Angel had sent Rob Smythe on his merry way back to England – since that he had been brooding. And comforting Buffy. And brooding with Buffy. The conclusion he had come to was that something had to be done, and fast. It wasn't a coincidence that the Council had given him such a short time to act before they threatened to kill Buffy – they wanted him to act rashly and come into their trap head over heals without any plan whatsoever.

He was currently sitting in front of the computer, trying to find a flight to London. It wasn't the easiest task – he had to make sure that the plane wouldn't leave or arrive when the sun was up, and with the time difference in mind… just the little thing of getting to England was difficult. What would happen when he was actually there… it was a whole different thing.

"It's a trap, don't you see that?" Buffy continued in an upset voice, pacing the small space behind the counter. Angel gave her a quick glance. Of course he knew it was a trap. He had used similar traps himself hundreds of times, and 9 times out of 10 they worked perfectly. The pressure of a loved one being held hostage threw most people off track and it made them vulnerable.

Fortunately, he wasn't most people.

"I for one think you're doin' the right thing." Gunn stated from his position sitting on the countertop, polishing his axe. Gunn was a down to business kind of guy. This had to be done, no matter the risks and the possible consequences. The alternative was sitting quietly and waiting for the Council to tire of the game or the time to run out. When that happened they would kill Buffy, without a doubt. They had to act, now.

"I have to try, Buffy," Angel said with a sigh. "I can't just sit here – if I go there, at least there will be a chance." Buffy scowled at him.

"A slim chance! A very slim chance. In fact, I think it would be safer for you to sleep in a bed full of stakes pointing upwards!" Angel frowned at her.

"Yeah, 'cause you know, even if you get impaled the heart could be fine, right?" Buffy shook her head. "Please, just think about this."

"I have. I've thought about it for hours, and there is no other way. What am I supposed to do, huh? Sit here and knit, hope that they change their mind about killing you? Call them and have a nice chat where we talk out our differences? There is no other way." They stared at each other for a minute, and Buffy slowly surrendered. Maybe he was right. Hell, he was _probably_ right. And the last thing he needed right now was for her to work against him. She inhaled a deep, unnecessary sigh.

"Okay. I – I understand." Angel nodded shortly.

"Good."

"But I'm coming with you," Buffy stated. "And don't try to argue with me."

"Okay." Buffy stared at him, not sure if she had heard right.

"'Okay'? What about the speech?" Angel turned his head to look at her.

"The speech?"

"Yeah, the speech! 'It's not safe, you could get hurt, yada yada yada'?" He smiled grimly.

"If they're going to hurt you, they won't bother going after _you_. The Council doesn't fight honorably, if they can they will try to stab us in the back. And that means using the version they already have safely locked up."

Buffy swallowed. It was an odd feeling; knowing that their enemy, the very same people that had held a grudge against her even before she became a vampire, was currently holding her unlife in their hands. If they wanted to, they could kill her right this second, and she wouldn't even know that it happened before she found herself turning into a pile of dust. It was… disturbing.

Wesley cleared his throat, obviously preparing to say something he really didn't want to.

"Angel, I… I really feel that I should come with you. Perhaps it could be of use to have someone who's been there… on the inside." Wesley was ashamed. To think that just a year and ha half ago he had been proud to be a part of the Council – it was depressing.

"No," Angel interrupted firmly. "I'm thankful for whatever information you have about their headquarters that could be of help, but you're not coming with us. We can't risk it."

Wesley nodded slowly. A voice somewhere in the back of his head was telling him that he should press it, should persist in his wish to join them. On the other hand, what was to say that they wouldn't do better by themselves? He could give them the information they needed over the phone, and that way they wouldn't have to drag him with them.

"Alright, if that's your wish," he said quietly.

"Does that go for me too?" Cordelia forced herself to ask. She didn't want to ask it – she didn't want to seem like she _wanted_ to come with them across the Atlantic and possibly get hurt, or killed… or both. Why should she be there for _them_? It wasn't like they were there for her. Still. Angel was her friend, and she had to at least ask.

"Yes, Cordelia, you're staying here too." Cordelia nodded and exhaled what she hoped was a silent sigh. Either way Angel didn't take any notice of her – he was already continuing to talk with Wesley.

"Wes, I want you to contact Sunnydale when we're gone. If this works out as it's supposed to, we're going to need Willow and her reintegration spell."

He stared at the computer screen for a minute. "We're meeting the Council in three days, but according to this, there's no chance to find a suitable flight until then." Cordelia glanced over his shoulder.

"Really? There must be dozens of flights from L.A. to London."

"A few, but all of them either take off from LAX when the sun is still up here, or arrive in London when it's light out there."

"Can't you just grab your blankets and go all 'run, Forrest, run'?" Cordelia argued. Angel sighed.

"I've said it before. There is no safe way to guard against the daylight on an airplane."

"Uh-huh, so what then? You grab a wee little cargo ship? 'Cause last time I checked those take a little longer than airplanes."

"Hmm." Buffy looked at Angel. He had his thoughtful scowl on – which wasn't unusual, but it could mean that he had an idea.

"What?" she asked him.

"I have an idea," Angel muttered as he grabbed the phone and dialed a number. Buffy didn't ask him what his idea was – instead she tried to figure it out whom he could possibly call by herself. Maybe the airport to tell them that he wanted to take his girlfriend with very bad sun dermatitis across the vast blue for a visit to the colder England. Hmm. Or maybe not.

She heard him talk to several people – secretaries by the sound of it, before he finally got a hold of the right person.

"Mr. Nabbit, this is Angel," he said. "I need a big favor."


	5. OLD FRIENDS, OLD ENEMIES

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**CHAPTER 5: OLD FRIENDS, OLD ENEMIES**

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"So who is this guy, really?" Buffy glanced at Angel who was staring into space. The two of them were standing in an alley in which Angel had arranged to meet this guy named David Nabbit. Buffy didn't have any idea who he was, how he knew Angel or even if he could be trusted… but Angel seemed to trust that he was okay.

"And old client," Angel said shortly, glancing at his watch.

"Uh-huh. An old client that might be able to help us get to England… how?"

"He's a software billionaire, and we helped him with a case of black-mail last year."

"But he's an old _client_, not a friend, right? Why would he help us?"

"He's – he's a lonely guy. Despite everything. And I think he has a thing for Cordelia… the point is, I think he might be able to help. And willing to." Buffy shrugged.

"Whatever you say."

They waited in silence. Buffy was still skeptic and just about to suggest that the billionaire-friend didn't even seem to be showing up, when a black stretch limousine pulled up to the mouth of the alley. The back door opened and a guy – presumably David – stuck his head out and motioned for them to come over.

Buffy glanced at Angel and he nodded reassuringly. Once they had settled in the limo pulled away from the alley.

"Mr. Nabbit, this is Buffy," Angel introduced. He smiled a friendly smile.

"Please, call me David. We're practically pals nowadays anyway."

Buffy studied him while she hesitantly shook his hand. To her surprise he didn't, like most people, flinch under her coolness. It was a pleasant change.

"Wow, this is such an honor," David said, and Buffy found herself a little amused that this guy was supposedly a computer genius that had built his own company from the ground and made millions from it. He seemed like – well, the guy one would expect to see in the drive-through window at Doublemeat Palace, or something.

"I mean, I knew there was girl in Angel's past but I never imagined, wow – such a pleasure," he continued.

Buffy smiled coyly – if she could still blush, she probably would. How did he know so much about her? Angel looked at David, seemingly as wondering as Buffy how he had been informed of her.

"Oh, yeah, I stopped by the hotel one day, you were in Sunnydale. Cordelia explained it all to me," David offered.

"Hmm," Angel uttered.

"Great, Cordelia explaining my love life, just what I need," Buffy grumbled, desperately hoping that they could just get the spotlight off of her and get on with what they were really here for.

"She was pretty nice about it, said something about star crossed lovers, forbidden love of all time. It sounds exciting to me," David said, and actually sounding like he meant it.

Exciting, yeah. Maybe it sounded _exciting_, but it wasn't really how Buffy would describe her and Angel's relationship. She looked away, and Angel saw that the subject made her uncomfortable.

"I thought I said discreet, David. I didn't expect a limo," he said, focusing the conversation in another direction. David shrugged.

"Well, this is L.A. Limos are discreet. I guess people will just think we're celebrities. I mean, they'd certainly never guess vampires on secret mission heading to England, right?"

"He's right," Buffy said, coming to David's defense. She wasn't sure why she felt that she needed to support him, maybe because he reminded her of a slightly geekier version of Xander. And he seemed genuinely nice, which wasn't something they came across every day.

"Okay," Angel agreed, defeated. "So, cutting straight to business since we don't have a lot of time; can you help us?" David nodded.

"Of course. I have a plane ready to go waiting for you." Buffy frowned. He said it with such simplicity, like taking out his private plane and sending it across the Atlantic without any gain was no big deal at all. Then again, maybe it wasn't. To him.

"We're, um, we're really thankful for you help," she said.

"Oh, it's nothing," David argued. "I have two jets of my own; I don't need them both at the same time."

"So how does this work?" Angel asked.

"Well, the pilots won't ask you anything. They won't report to anyone that you were ever on the plane, and their flight plans and logs will say they went to Italy. The plane's windows have been blacked out in the passenger cabin."

"We're worried that the Council might be guarding the larger airports surrounding London," Angel cut in.

"I've thought about that, and I've made sure that you can land on an old, private runway. It hasn't been used for years and no one's there monitoring it. Once the plane lands the pilots will guard it the entire time and be ready to take off as soon as you are."

Buffy was surprised by the change that went over David when he was talking business – he seemed less nerdy and much more like the professional he actually was.

"I really can't thank you enough for this Mr. Nabbit… um, David," Angel said. David smiled.

"It's no problem, really. I mean, you guys have done things for me. Besides, how often do I get to do covert top secret agent stuff like this?"

* * *

Only hours later, they were on the plane heading to London. Cordelia, Wesley and Gunn had wished them luck and hoped that they would see both of them in one piece again… Wesley had the eerie feeling that sending Buffy and Angel up against the Council alone was a mistake, a big mistake, but what could he do?

The whole situation felt strange and downright wrong. Angel and Buffy both knew that they were playing the Council right into their hands by coming to England, they knew there was a big risk that they would be discovered the minute they landed, despite David's help… deep down they knew that the Council had all advantages, and with just a flick of their wrist they could terminate everything by killing Buffy. And they sure as hell would if they suspected that they were being tricked or that there was a danger of the imprisoned Buffy getting bailed out.

With all this uplifting knowledge they got on the plane. Buffy spent a few minutes before takeoff admiring the interior, telling Angel that this was nothing like the airplanes she had seen before. They talked for a while, about nothing in particular… but somehow the conversation kept drifting back to bad things they didn't need to think about right now; death, angry watchers, a soulless Buffy-persona… all very discouraging.

Finally Angel suggested that Buffy could try to watch something on the huge TV David had in the plane. As for himself, he planned to withdraw and loose himself in a book for a few hours. They had a long trip ahead.

After an hour or so, Angel glanced up when he heard Buffy sniffling. He put down the book and went over to her. He took the headphones she was wearing off and cuddled her. She sobbed into his chest. She had been prone to tears lately, and Angel figured it was perfectly understandable with everything that had happened and everything that was going on.

The fact that she was split in two didn't make her more balanced – Angel remembered when he had been split from Angelus, how unstable and aggressive he had been. Angel tried to do what he had always done – comfort her and wait patiently. He figured that eventually she would tell him what was bothering her.

"Poor Helen," she said between broken sobs.

Helen? Angel was confused. He let his eyes flutter to the large screen in front of Buffy but he couldn't see anything on it that might be the reason for her sadness. Who was Helen? Maybe she meant Cordelia? Could she still be upset by what happened at the hotel? Of course she could. After everything that has happened to her, it took a little while for things to really hit her.

"Just because she made it onto the train," she sobbed out.

Angel was completely lost. He didn't know who Helen was, and what she had to do with a train… Angel searched his brain, trying to remember if one of the girls he had killed in Sunnydale as Angelus had been named Helen. He didn't think so – however, he hadn't bothered to get the names of every victim. But if that was so, it might be the reason… if this Helen had come to Sunnydale by train while Angelus was loose… but still, he didn't understand why she would cry about that right now. Angel decided to break down and confess his total ignorance at what she was crying about.

"Buffy, what are you talking about?" She shot her head up and glared at him.

"Sliding doors," she snapped.

"Sliding… doors?" Angel scratched his head. "What are sliding doors… and why are you crying because of it?" The girl completely mystified him.

"The movie," she muttered, wiping away her tears, seeming ashamed of herself. He moved over to her and sat down next to her. "Poor Helen," she said again.

"Tell me," he said softly.

"It's like two versions of the reality, right. In one she misses her train, in one she makes it abroad. And you would think the one where she makes it would be the happy story, but no… In the end, she dies. Things were going so well for her, and poof, she's dead."

Angel swallowed. This was starting to sound awfully familiar.

"Buffy, they are just TV characters," he try to use calm and reason with her.

"It's always like that, I guess." She sighed. "If things seem to be too good to be true, they probably are. People die, and go away… and things are different forever." She didn't look at him. Angel wasn't sure what to do. He had the feeling that trying to engage in a deep conversation about her feelings would drive them so deep into depression that their spirits would have to be picked up from the bottom of the Atlantic. Maybe he should just… be there.

"Buffy, why don't we watch something else?" he suggested. "No need for more sob stories, right? What about no romance at all? David said he had a lot of different movies here."

He flipped open the console that hid the DVD's. "There's, uh, Star Wars and every episode of Star Trek known to man…" he trailed off, gave the load of movies another glance and picked up two random DVD's.

"Um… okay." He frowned and read from the DVD's. "Do we watch… _You've got mail_ or _When Harry Met Sally_ first?"

* * *

It was late afternoon when they landed in London. During the eight hour or so trip they'd had the questionable pleasure of passing the time by watching countless sickly-sweet romance movies, and Angel was ready to melt away and disappear like a wet stain into his seat. The simple happy-ending stories seemed to calm Buffy though, and she hadn't cried anymore. She hadn't talked very much either… but at least she seemed reasonably fine.

Still. So much goodness and luck and happiness… Angel was fairly certain he'd never been so grateful to see nightfall.

One of the pilots knocked on the plane's door to let them know it was safe to come out. There was a cab waiting for them. David has arranged for them to stay in a bed and breakfast under an assumed name. It was supposed to be only a short distance from the Watcher Council's headquarters.

Somehow, and Angel guessed the "somehow" was green and called "dollar", David had managed to convince the owner of the bed and breakfast to leave the entire building to them. Apparently the owner suddenly got enough money to take a luxury vacation to see her sister in Madrid.

The bed and breakfast was comfortable. The refrigerator had been stocked with blood. There was a bomb shelter underneath the house, it was one of the solid concrete ones that were built during World War II. Buffy and Angel set up rooms in the shelter. Once they had everything in order Angel sat down on the bed next to her. He glanced at her. She looked like she felt safe… well, reasonably safe. As safe as could be expected, considering that their enemies held the possibility to kill her at any moment.

"So this is it, huh? London," Buffy said finally.

"Yeah, well, at least a very small part of subterranean London." Angel put one arm around Buffy's shoulders. "We still have two days before we're going to meet the Council. As long as we stay out of vampire haunts and cemeteries, I think it would be safe to have a look around if you want."

Maybe it was a stupid idea, he knew that. An unnecessary risk. But still… he hoped that she would say yes. He wanted to keep her – and his – mind off things, or else they might be consumed by depressing thoughts by the time they had to face the bloodthirsty watchers. She nodded.

"Yeah, that would be nice… I guess. I mean… it's better than sitting around here for 48 hours straight, right?" Angel nodded.

"What do you want to see?" he asked her. She thought about if for a moment before she answered. She tried to recall the places in London that Giles had told her about over the years, but for some reason she found her mind blank. Still, the only place she could come to think of that she wanted to see seemed – like Giles would say – strangely fitting, in a grotesque fashion.

"Do you think they have evening tours of the Tower of London?" she finally asked.

Angel winced. Funny. Out of everything there was to see in London, Buffy picked an old prison where countless people, sometimes completely innocent ones at that, had been imprisoned before their brutal execution.

"I think so. Uh, they might have midnight tours… Are you sure you want to go there?"

"Yeah. Isn't that where Henry the eighth locked up all his wives?" Buffy vaguely remembered this from her history classes. It must have been a slow apocalypse week in Sunnydale when they studied that. He looked at her.

"Among others," he croaked. "It's really… well it's not that great, Buffy," Angel tried to convince her.

Buffy wrinkled her nose and looked up at him. She could think of several reasons as to how he knew that – some more disturbing than others. "You've been there on a tour?"

"Not exactly," he hedged.

Buffy blinked. Well, she wasn't stupid. His hesitation must mean that the reason was one of the more disturbing ones… "YOU were locked up in the Tower of London?"

"For a little while." He shrugged, trying to make light of it. Buffy tried to imagine Angel… well, Angelus, or at least so she hoped, locked up in the Tower. She couldn't help but wonder how the guards had handled it. Maybe they killed themselves after a few hours alone with Angelus and his taunts…

"What did you do?"

"It was, uh… I was accused of murder." He glanced at her.

"What, did you eat the queen?" Buffy asked with a grin, half joking. Angel didn't laugh.

"Well, uh…" She turned to look at him.

"You _did_ eat the queen?" She tried to recall her history classes. Nope, she couldn't remember anyone in the right timeslot. So _that_ must have been a busy apocalypse week. "Who?"

"Well, it was a king… It was George II… In, uh, October 1760. The official cause of death was a stroke, but... ah, that's not how it happened." Buffy frowned.

"Hmm."

"I was young and cocky. Didn't understand that if you're going to murder the King of England in his own bed, you should do it quick, or at least make sure he can't scream. Should have ripped out his vocal cord first, not last," he mused.

"They caught you?"

"Yeah."

"And you were imprisoned in the Tower. How was it?" Angel frowned, reminiscing.

"Not that bad, actually."

"Really? Why weren't you beheaded then, instead of here with me? Not that I'm complaining." She smiled a little. Angel couldn't help but think about how things would have been if he had been executed back then. Most of Angelus' reign of terror would never have happened. So many lives would have been spared his evil. Buffy's being one among them…

"Well, Darla… _convinced _the guards to let me out," he said, remembering it. The whole thing had been an embarrassment to the Royal Family. It had been quieted down and covered up by the new king, the grandson to the one he had murdered.

He and Darla had brutally murdered every single guard in the tower that night before they dined on some of the other prisoners… well, except for the most brutal ones, of course. They had turned one of them and let the others out to continue tormenting London. After that they had gone to visit the Master down in the sewers, he remembered.

"Ah..." Buffy wrinkled her nose. Now, she could just imagine how that had happened, and she didn't need him to explain it further. Still, despite the evil it was fascinating – Angel was telling her stories about the times most people had only read about in history books. If she had used his knowledge better back in her High School-days, she could have aced all her history assignments.

"So," she said, bringing Angel back from the depression he was on the verge on – as always when Angelus and his past was brought up.  
"When do we go there? You can point out your cell for me."

* * *

_A/N: Remember episode 2x7 Darla? Angelus and Darla were indeed in (and beneath) London in 1760. And, Angel really has been in the Tower... Ooh. _


	6. INFERNO

_A/N: Thank you kind reviewers, even if you are still few you are greatly appreciated!_

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**CHAPTER 6: INFERNO**

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The next few days were surreal in some strange way. Buffy and Angel had the delicious choice of either bury themselves in despair, the knowledge that they were outnumbered, fighting from a vulnerable position and battling terrible odds… or they could choose not to. They couldn't do much until they were to meet with the Council anyway.

Of course they could stake out the Council's headquarters and try to find out as much as they could from the outside – but that came with the risk of being discovered. As far as they knew, and judging by the fact that their current residence had yet to be blown up or destroyed in some other way… the Watchers probably didn't know that they were in town yet. And the longer their presence was kept in the dark, the better.

Of course, being broody immortals they couldn't just sit around, twiddling their thumbs – they had to stay occupied to keep their mind off of things. One of David Nabbit's pilots acted as their driver and took them wherever they wanted, and cruising around town behind blacked out car windows constituted as a pretty safe way to explore London.

During the two days they saw Stonehenge and the British museum. Buffy had asked Angel if there was one museum called British Museum and one called _the_ British Museum… or if the first simply was a way to describe a museum located in England. When a thoughtful scowl had formed on Angel's face Buffy had explained that when she first met Willow, she had told Buffy that Giles, who had recently arrived from England at the time, had been a curator at some British museum, or The British Museum… or something. Not that the explanation had left Angel much more informed…

Like a typical American tourist, Buffy tried to ruffle the guards standing outside Buckingham palace – she even vamp faced. The guard stood steadfast. Angel stood back and chuckled at her, happy to see her so comfortable with her vampiric persona. He didn't want her to be comfortable with it – more accurately, he didn't want her to HAVE to be comfortable with it… but things were what they were, and he was glad that she was coping so well.

They did take that evening tour in the Tower of London – and Buffy was fairly certain that she was the only visitor that had a boyfriend that could point out in which cell he had been 240 years ago.

They were finally getting to be that ordinary couple they had always wanted – right now they weren't two ensouled vampires on a secret mission in England where they were going to meet the Watcher's Council and try to negotiate with them for their lives… they were Angel and Buffy – they were just a normal couple; in love, together and discovering England. It was a nice fantasy, coming true for a few days.

And it was tragic. They both knew that for each minute they shut out and ignored reality, each minute they were closer to getting forced back to it. There was no escaping. They wanted so badly to stay in their state of happy denial, but they knew they couldn't. If they got on the plane and went back to Los Angeles or just didn't bother to show up at the Council… well, it was safe to say that would yank them back to the real world in the most brutal fashion.

* * *

"What are you saying?" Giles stared at the pile of paperwork he had been busy with when the phone rang. He had answered just like he always did – "The Magic Box, your one-stop spot to shop for all your occult needs, Rupert Giles speaking" – after all it wasn't like it was unusual for his business phone to ring. People called them all day to inquire about prices, items in stock, if they were open on Sundays, if they were selling black cats… 

This was something different, though. As soon as he heard Wesley's solemn voice in the other end he had understood that something was going on. They hadn't heard much from Los Angeles since Buffy moved there a few weeks ago, and Giles had hoped that the silence meant that everything was going well. Now he was told something that made him want to 1) kick himself for being so naïve, 2) shout furiously in Wesley's ear, asking him why they hadn't called him sooner, and 3) sit down, gulp down a whole bottle of scotch and weep for the fact that the hell never seemed to end for Buffy. His Slayer.

But he couldn't do any of those things.

"And we're absolutely sure that the Council really has Buffy… the other Buffy… in custody?" Wesley had already explained it to him, but he needed to ask again. He needed for Wesley to explain it again, because the whole things seemed like some horrible nightmare. Perhaps it was. Perhaps he had fallen asleep behind the counter and just dreamt that Wesley had called him.

Then again, perhaps not.

Wesley told him over again. Yes, they were certain – they had all proof they needed, including a personal visit from Rob Smythe. Even Giles knew who he was. He was much younger than him of course, and had been at the Watcher's Academy many years after him, but he had met him a few times. Might very well be the worst lickspittle he had ever met.

Being such a bumsucker he had advanced quickly through the twisted career ladder within the Council. Starting at the bottom by running everybody's errands, making perfect tea and show off with his good book knowledge he had become Quentin Traver's right hand and emissary within only a few years. If he sent him to give them the message, it was serious.

"And… and when did you say they left?" Giles tried to swallow, but his throat suddenly seemed dry as a desert. Yesterday, the reply came. That meant they were already there – in London, maybe only blocks away from the Council. Giles shook his head, as if Wesley could have seen it.

"Why did you wait so long before contacting me?" The question revealed nothing of the barely contained rage that Giles felt stirring up – he kept his cool. "Stayed all proper and British" like Xander might have said. He didn't want to stay controlled and calm. He wanted to hop on the next plane to London, swoop in, take Buffy in his embrace and take her away from the inferno that was her reality. But he didn't.

Instead he stood there, his hand shaking as he removed his glasses and started cleaning them – something that he had learned over the years to do with only one hand – and listened to Wesley's reply. They wanted Willow to be ready with the spell to reunite Buffy and her worse half when Angel and Buffy… Buffies, came back. Yes, obviously.

_If_ they came back. But Wesley didn't say that, and neither did Giles. Perhaps simply because they both knew that the knowledge of that was already painfully evident to both of them… perhaps because both of them had served several years within the Council and therefore knew that if they were really set on simple termination… the odds were bad, to put things nicely.

"Thank you for informing us. We'll keep in touch," Giles said tonelessly, hanging up the phone.

"Us". It was a somewhat comical word to use, considering that he was completely alone in the shop. Anya had quit for the day; she was the only one that came by every day. The others came once in a while, and they had their patrols together a few times a week. Giles wasn't sure if Willow met Anya and Xander often nowadays – but he had sadly noted that it seemed like the group was dispersing. Things hadn't been the same since Buffy left.

No, before that, he realized. Since Buffy died.

Giles lifted the phone and dialed Willow's number. It was tragic, having to call them together for a meeting of such unpleasant nature, but what could he do?

"Willow, hello. It's Giles," he said. "Come to the Magic Box as soon as possible. Yes, I realize that you have a lot to do, but this is is important. It's about Buffy."

* * *

A random bypasser would never suspect that there was anything strange or out of the ordinary at all with the tall, brownish building next to many others on the same street. Headquarters of the Watcher's Council of Britain? It might as well be a computer company or just a large library. Oh, if people only knew. 

"Do you know where we're supposed to meet them?" Buffy asked, studying the building. She couldn't see any light in any of the windows, but she knew they must be in there, and they might very well be watching her. After all, that was their job, wasn't it? Watching. Any watcher doing anything more than that, actually going out there and getting their hands dirty was considered a twisted outsider. It was tragic, really.

"The back yard," Angel replied shortly. "We'll have to go in through the main entrance and follow the path to behind the building.

"So they can execute us without the outside world seeing it, of course," Buffy said simply. "Big joy." Angel put his hands on her shoulder and turned her around gently but firmly.

"Hey. We're _not_ going to die. Not you, and not me – we're going to get out of this."

"Funny," Buffy said with a wry smile. "Said by the dead guy to the dead girl."

"Well, okay," Angel mumbled. "But we won't be any _deader_ when we leave this place."

Buffy nodded silently before turning back to the building. She had a strange feeling in her stomach, and all of her senses told her to turn and leave… no, turn and _run_ away as quickly as possible. This was a place where badness would ensue, she could feel it. It was like a slight nausea, her predator instinct and Slayer sense for once working together, telling her that this wasn't a place where they should be…

Or maybe the feeling in her stomach was just because of the bad pig's blood she had drunk yesterday before they realized that the fridge in David Nabbit's jet must have been too warm during the trip.

"So what's the brilliant plan here, really?" Buffy said, swallowing hard. "We go in there and try to negotiate with them?"

"Well, there's that," Angel said. "And there is the option of grabbing your other self and fight our way out," he continued, moving his long coat enough for Buffy to see the weapons he had hidden under it. An axe, a crossbow and a few small throwing knives.

"Didn't they tell you to come unarmed?" Buffy asked, quirking a brow.

"They did. They also told me to come alone and give myself up to be killed. Let's just say I have the occasional habit of not listening to the Council," he smirked slightly.

"Good thinking."

"There's a manhole just a little further down the street if we have to flee – let's just hope your other self will cooperate."

"Hmm." The thought of_ that_ – "her other self" – made chills of a whole new sort run down her spine. The thought of meeting _her_, seeing what her true demonic essence would be like… well, Buffy was pretty sure the sight of that, the memory of what she would be without a soul would keep her from endangering the curse. Ever. It would be like meeting Angelus again but twice as bad, because she would know that SHE, the who and what she was nowadays was capable of being everything her other self was.

What if we can't control her? she wanted to ask. What if we can never forget how horrible she was… what if_ I_ can't? After all, Angel lived with the crystal clear memory of being Angelus for 150 years – it wasn't the same thing for him. But still. What if he hated her when he saw how her demon was?

"Should we go?" she asked tonelessly. He looked at her, and he felt her pain. He knew what she was thinking and how stressed she must be, and he suffered with her. He just wanted to take her in his arms and lead her away from all this madness… turn his back on the Council and go back home. But he couldn't do that, of course.

"Yeah," he whispered.

If the Watcher's were not already aware of their presence they surely must be as soon as Angel touched the heavy gate which creaked loudly enough to wake the dead. The dead that was really dead, that was.

Buffy had the eerie feeling of walking to her own execution for every step she took on the narrow gravel path that led them around the building to the backyard – or courtyard was more like it. The old building and its surroundings reminded her of an old castle.

She could feel a tingle in her stomach, like when a vampire was close, but stronger. Of course – the vampire she was sensing now wasn't just anyone, after all. Was she still imprisoned, or had they brought her outside? When she concentrated, she could hear heartbeats, several of them. The Watcher's were close. She glanced at Angel to see if he had sensed them as well, and of course he had.

When they stepped into the cobblestoned courtyard from the relatively safe and comforting path they knew they might be taking their last steps – what was to say that the Council wouldn't simply take their chance and wipe them out here and now?

There were no witnesses, no nothing, and the outcome would be the same as if they acted more honorably. Buffy was almost expecting to her the whistling sound of arrows cutting through the air, the clicking when crossbows were loaded, the burning, stabbing and jolting pain when arrows hit her…

But she didn't.

As soon as the two of them stopped, giant spotlights were lit, practically blinding the vampires' sensitive sight for a few moments. When Buffy could see straight again she saw that the courtyard was much larger than she had thought when it was dark. It was huge, and further away there was grass and trees – and it was all fenced in with huge impenetrable walls that shut out all outside reality.

It looked a little bit like the yard of a prison – so controlled and enclosed. If this was the institution – well, _working place_ – where Watcher's spent most of their lives, maybe it wasn't so strange that they became so twisted and cut off from reality.

Buffy could see something that looked like training equipment rigged up between a few trees. Buffy silently wondered if this was the place where Wesley had met his only vampires before he came to Sunnydale… under "controlled circumstances". Yeah, Giles had told her about that.

And she could see Watchers. Lots of Watchers, surrounding them. All of their faces were equally cold and grim, holding no emotion whatsoever. Buffy knew she shouldn't waste her energy with caring about it, she already knew the Council's opinion after all, but she couldn't help feeling disgust for these people.

They were here to kill two creatures that had at least as much humanity in them as themselves, that actually went out there and fought the battles the Council were researching and delegating to their so called Chosen One… and they truly considered their actions justified just because the champions the were facing happened to be vampires.

Quentin Travers stepped forward, and Buffy felt the demon inside her roar at the sight of the man that had ordered her and Angel killed, her house destroyed… her unlife ruined. He looked older than the last time she saw him – and the shining new goatee and mustache was probably a big reason as to why. He looked as plump and blown-up as ever, a supercilious smile tugging at his lips.

Buffy considered how many seconds it would take for her to lunge forward, grab the man and twist his head until she heard a satisfying crack. She could hear the crack in her head right now, over and over, and she could see Quentin's empty, dying glance as he stared at her for a split second before he slumped to the ground in a dead heap…

Of course, after that it was her ashes that would settle over his body, and after that the odds were that Angel would be too shocked to escape… so no, that was the insane demon talking. Of course she couldn't kill Quentin like that.

Not right now, anyway.

She glanced at Angel. She could see in his gaze and his posture that he was thinking just the same thing as her. There was a dark glister of pure hatred and fury in his eyes – so much and so little like Angelus at the same time. Angelus didn't hate his victims – not like this. The source of Angel's hate and fury were human emotions, something that Angelus didn't have.

"Angelus," Quentin greeted in a flat voice. "And Ms. Summers. What a surprise." Well, so he said. His expression and tone of voice, though, told her that her presence what everything but a surprise.

"Mm. Actually, it's just Angel," Angel said coldly. "I don't know why you people have such a hard time understanding that."

"Ah, yes, we got the memo, thank you." Quentin took a few steps towards Angel and Buffy. Was he even aware how much he was playing with death at the moment?

"We find it rather amusing," he went on. "You change your name depending on the current status of your soul. The thing is, we don't much care about neither your name nor your soul – to us you are Angelus, the Scourge of Europe, no matter what. You got our message?"

"Well, obviously. I assume the flunky arrived back safely," Angel said dryly. Quentin nodded slightly.

"If you got our message, you know how this works."

"Sure, I know how you want it to work." While Angel was speaking he was scanning the area around him, trying to see possible threats. To his surprise, none of the Watchers surrounding them seemed to be armed in any way, which was strange. Was it possible that they were planning on approach this in an honorable manner? The Council – honorable. Now, what was wrong in that picture?

"Where is Buffy?" he asked. And Quentin smiled.

"Moving straight to business, are we? Yes, well. _Buffy_ is still safely imprisoned, and she will be so until you give yourself up. After that we will let her go." Angel smirked.

"Yeah, that's all good and well in the Land of Dunces," he mocked. "You let her go – then you get me. That's the only way this deal works." Quentin frowned, obviously considering his proposal. Obviously he must know that Angel wasn't planning to give himself up willingly either way – he couldn't be _that_ stupid.

"Very well," Quentin said finally. "Bring it in."

A few minutes later two men emerged from a door behind Travers, carrying a strong cage out into the courtyard. Buffy dreaded looking at it - looking at _her_, even though it soon became clear that the other Buffy was out cold in the cage.

She looked… she looked like hell. Not very threatening in the position she was in, crumpled on the floor of the cage. She was bloody, and dirty and had red marks on her wrists and neck from being chained down. She wore exactly the same clothes as the night she… or was it them, were shot.

Buffy could see a red-brown stain of dried blood on the white shirt where she had been wounded. Even from this distance it looked much worse than the wound Buffy herself had gotten. Maybe the wounds just rubbed off on the other half in a less serious fashion.

Angel swallowed. They had put her in a cage – which would complicate things. A lot. If they wanted to do the grab-and-flee-routine they wouldn't be able to carry the heavy cage, it would slow them down too much. He had to get her out of there… and unless the guards were stupid enough to have keys on them, he had no idea how. In time, maybe he could break the cage down, but it would take too long.

He shot Travers a look, and the man looked sickeningly smug. He knew what Angel was thinking, how helpless he felt. And he _liked_ it. He liked to see Angel desperately trying to figure out how he was going to save his loved one. And still he considered Angel to be the bigger monster of the two.

"You know how this works, Angelus. I think we made it rather clear in our letter. This doesn't have to be done in a savage manner. Just turn yourself over quietly."

Maybe it was the deep concentration and alarming fear that slowed down Angel's reactions. Maybe it was that Buffy the second flinched in her cage, obviously about to wake up. Maybe it was that the real Buffy, his Buffy, stiffened as soon as she saw that, maybe it was the buzzing sound from the spotlights and Quentin's monotonous voice – or maybe it was all of those things combined. Something slowed him down enough to miss it, kept his attention too long for him to avert it. It went too fast.

When he finally observed the whistling sound, the arrow was too close.

He didn't have time to throw himself in front of her. He didn't have time to catch the arrow, or even push her out of the way. In fact, he didn't even have time to move – it was only his eyes that even had time to register the arrow before it hit her.

There was a thud. The horrible, destructive sound of wood penetrating and cutting through flesh, and there was an almost inaudible whimper from Buffy when she staggered to the side, into Angel, collapsing to her knees. For a few seconds Angel was sure that she was dying and that the arrow had hit her in the heart, but at soon as his eyes were functioning like they were supposed to again he could see that she was hit an inch or so below the heart. They had failed, the bastards.

For a split second Angel looked up over at Quentin, expecting to see that smug, satisfied smile of his… but instead he saw nothing but confusion and bewilderment in his expression. Angel had looked upon quite a few faces in his day, to say in the least, and as far as he could discern… Quentin had no idea who had shot the arrow.

Or maybe he was just a really good actor.

There was commotion among the Watchers. They moved, someone screamed and Quentin shouted at the two guards to bring a stirring, and now also hurting, Buffy back into the building. Angel knew that however it seemed the arrow must have been fired on Quentin's command, and that meant that they needed to get out of here – right now.

He tried to scoop Buffy up and hold her tightly in his arms at the same time as he held her body straight and the arrow still. She looked blankly at him, trying to be strong, but as soon as he moved too quickly she winced visibly and tears welled up in her eyes. She was in so much pain.

Too much pain, a nagging feeling told Angel. She had been shot before. She shouldn't be hurting this much. Her wound wasn't a fatal one.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered to her as he got to his feet – which evidently involved moving her, but it was the only way.

Shouldn't they be firing at him? If their agenda was to simply shoot them down, they really should. As Angel headed for the path leading out from the courtyard, silently hoping that no one had closed the gate at the entrance – which he wouldn't be able to open without putting Buffy down, slowing down their escape considerably and hurting her.

He saw the face for only a moment. He let his gaze run over the yard to detect possibly dangers, and he saw the man's face for just a second, but it didn't matter. He would recognize him from anywhere.

The man from Salt Lake City. Considering the leer on his face and the crossbow in his hand, there wasn't much question of whether he was the person that had shot Buffy.

Of course Angel's first instinct was to drop everything and go after the bastard. He wanted to put the scumbag through the same pain that he had so enjoyed causing Buffy – and then some. He wanted to make do on his promise from that time before he had thrown him out of the kitchen, that he would show him what Angelus really was. But he couldn't to that, right now. Buffy's safety was far more important.

It wasn't until Angel and Buffy had disappeared out of Quentin Travers' visual field that he seemed to realize that the whole point of this meeting was going to hell in a hand basket – or to be more precisely, running away into the city where it would be impossible to track them. Angel could hear him shout to someone, saying something about catching Angelus now when they had a chance.

Angel ran through the heavy gate, the relief of it being open soon overshadowed by the realization that he would have to stop to move the manhole cover either way. Sprinting down the street where his persecutors would have clear view to shoot at him didn't seem like a good option.

Cursing inwardly when Buffy whimpered silently of pain, Angel flipped the manhole cover open with one hand, barely dodging a tranquilizer dart before he grabbed Buffy tightly again and jumped down into the sewer.


	7. NEVER AN EASY WAY

**

* * *

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**CHAPTER 7: NEVER AN EASY WAY  
**

**

* * *

**

Angel's panic rose as he ran as silently as he could through the muck-filled sewer, searching for a place where he could put Buffy down. He could hear voices somewhere behind him – someone from the Council must have followed him down into the tunnel.

Buffy was barely conscious and hung slumped over his arms, the arrow still sticking out of her side. The best thing would be to get out of the sewers and back to their temporary home, the bomb shelter, but he couldn't risk it. Chances were the Council was watching the nearest manholes, and Angel didn't know these tunnels well enough to take a detour back.

Finally he found an empty tunnel which wasn't quite noticeable for someone that lacked vampire senses. Making sure no one was watching them from a distance Angel entered. He spread his coat on the ground and put Buffy down on it ever so lightly, to avoid hurting her again.

"Buffy," he whispered. "Buffy, are you awake?" He moved a few strands of blonde hair away from her face, feeling her forehead and neck, swallowing hard. She was much warmer than she should be. Much warmer than him. She opened her eyes.

"Angel…"

"Buffy."

"Pain," she managed, grimacing.

"I know," Angel whispered. "Look, I have to get the arrow out. It's very close to your heart… it might be why it hurts so much."

He knew it was a lie. It shouldn't hurt this much, close to the heart or not. Buffy must know it too – or maybe she could just see it in his eyes. She clenched her teeth, curling her hands to tight fists when he moved her to examine the exit wound in her back. He broke it off to be able to pull it out of her and Buffy moaned silently, but she kept her brave face. Just like always.

"Okay," he said. "On three, 1-," Angel quickly pulled out the arrow. Buffy winced from the pain and bit her lip to avoid crying out.

"I knew you were going to do that," she said with a wry smile.

"One time a little blond did that to me," he said softly.

"I remember," she whispered, extending a slightly trembling hand and touching Angel's face softly. He smiled at her, or tried to, but he was pretty sure it came out more as a grimace. Her hand was hot – much too hot. Soon the pain took the upper hand again and she closed her eyes for a second, letting her hand drop. She was so pale, and sweating, her system obviously in deep distress.

It wasn't as it came a surprise when he grabbed the arrow and smelled its tip. An involuntary shudder went through his body. He knew that smell - he would never forget it.

"Damn it," he cursed in a silent voice, but Buffy heard him and opened her eyes.

"Angel? What is it?" He just looked at her, his clearly worried expression frightening deeply. It wasn't just worry in his eyes. It was panic – and fear. And that wasn't something she had seen in him very often.

"What is it?" she repeated as sharply as she could muster.

"The arrow. It's poisoned."

* * *

It was early afternoon in Los Angeles when the phone rang in the Hyperion Hotel. Wesley, Gunn and Cordelia were all there, waiting nervously. They were well aware of what time it was in London – it was about the time when Angel or Buffy should call with news. Hopefully news that told them that they were on the plane heading back with Buffy the second contained… That everything was fine and that they were both... or, all, safe and sound. 

They all physically flinched when the phone rang. Of course, it could be a client. Or a wrong number… or someone wanting to sell them a soda machine for the lobby…

Or not.

Wesley swallowed hard when he picked up the phone.

"Angel Investigations, Wesley Wyndham Pryce speaking."

"Wesley!" he heard Angel's voice. Wesley nodded to let Cordelia and Gunn know who it was, and they moved closer. But something was wrong – Wesley could hear it. Even if Angel had only said one word… something was wrong. Or maybe he was just being paranoid. Overly paranoid. He had been known for being that on occasion, after all.

"Angel? We're glad to hear from you," he said. "How… how are things going?" Wesley looked at Gunn and Cordelia, frowning. He heard something in the background, and he had heard it before – dripping water. And the reception wasn't too good.

"Are you in the sewers?" he asked, trying to figure out if that was good or bad. Either they were running for their lives, or Buffy the second had escaped into the sewers, or something had happened to either of the Buffies, or…

"Wes, I need you to do some research," Angel cut off his train of thoughts.

Not good. Couldn't reasonably be good. Wesley swallowed hard.

"Concerning what?" Angel said something Wesley couldn't hear because of the background noises and the bad reception.

"What? I'm sorry Angel, I can't hear you very well."

"I need you to find a mother curse for my killer from hell."

Wesley was quiet for a moment, not sure if he heard right. What he had heard sounded like something that could be used on Angelus to make him want his mother, and Wesley was fairly certain that wasn't quite right. Even if the thought was... almost amusing, in some silly, twisted way.

"Pardon me?"

"I said, I need you do find another cure for Killer of the dead, the poison!" Angel almost yelled, frustrated. Even Gunn and Cordelia could hear him this time. Gunn frowned, not sure what it meant. Cordelia on the other hand understood perfectly, as did Wesley.

After all they had been there the first time around.

"Good lord, Angel, what's happened? Have you been shot?"

"Not me, Buffy! They shot her."

There was really no need for anyone to ask who "they" were.

"Okay, just… stay calm. Where did they shoot her? I mean, where did the arrow strike?"

"Close to the heart." Wesley swallowed.

"That's… bad."

"Do you think so?" Angel snapped angrily. "Find a cure for her!" Wesley swallowed hard.

"Angel, I-I'm afraid there is only one cure and… we already know what it is." Now Angel was really upset. Quite frankly Wesley was glad that he was only talking to him on the phone.

"I know that we only _know_ of one cure, but guess what? Maybe there's another solution."

"Angel, of course we will do what we can, but truth be told... I'm really not sure there_ is_ no other cure."

"There has to be." His voice was pleading. Desperate. Wesley swallowed hard, not sure what to tell him.

"Find it, or consider yourself fired!" Angel hissed. The line went dead.

"Angel? Angel!" Wesley put down the telephone. "He hung up."

Cordelia started pacing back and forth between her desk and the counter. "This is bad. What the hell happened there?"

"And what is 'Killer of the Dead'? Doesn't sound great," Gunn said.

"It's, er, it's… a poison. One of the very few that affects vampires; thus the name," Wesley replied, not sure how to proceed. "It's… it's deadly. And it destroys the vampire rather fast."

"Miss wacky nutbag-slayer used it on Angel once," Cordelia supplied. Gunn nodded slowly, frowning at the nick-name.

"And apparently he got better," he said.

"We found a cure," Cordelia continued. "Only it's… not real easy to come by."

"The only known cure for the poison is for the vampire to drain the blood of a Slayer," Wesley proceeded. "Which Angel did." Gunn furrowed his brow.

"Wait a minute. Isn't the 'nutbag-slayer' still alive?"

"She is, certainly. The slayer doesn't have to be completely drained, and besides, it wasn't Faith that cured Angel." It took a few moments for Gunn to comprehend.

"Ah. Oh."

"So what do we do?" Cordelia's voice was unusually small and unsure.

Wesley wanted to have answers, he wanted to be able to use all his years of book-learning to lay out a plan, execute it and make everything better. But he couldn't. In fact, he had no idea what to do. He was fairly certain that there really were no other cures for the poison, and even if there was, how were they supposed to find it and bring it to Angel within… say 24 hours, tops?

He shrugged.

"I don't know."

Cordelia nodded silently. Was that blame in her eyes, or was he just imagining things? Perhaps – it was likely. His whole life he had been surrounded by people who had taught him how shameful it was to be something other than the best, the one with the most knowledge, the one with answers to all questions. From a very young age he had been driven to the edge to be the best, at the same time as he had been told how useless and stupid he was. It had left its marks, even though he would never admit it to anyone.

After all, admitting a weakness was even worse than actually having one.

"Can't we use this Faith-chick?" Gunn suggested. "Time for paying back, kinda." Wesley shook his head.

"She's in prison – and even if she wasn't… I don't see how we could get her there in time." Gunn nodded. Cordelia sat down. Wesley just stood there.

"What can we do then?" Cordelia said after a minute's silence. "Just sit her on our asses and say there's nothing we can do? Let her die?"

"No… no. Of course we'll try. I'll contact Giles as well. We'll… we'll do everything we possibly can."

* * *

"Poison, huh?" Angel stiffened when he heard her voice from behind him. He let the cell phone slide into the breast pocket of his shirt, slowly turning around to face her. Had she heard his call to L.A.? Did she know how bad it was? She had lost consciousness shortly after he first told her that the arrow was poisoned, and he wasn't really sure how much she had heard. He approached her slowly, getting down on his knees beside her. She didn't move her head when she followed him with her gaze. 

He put his hand on her forehead, already knowing how she would feel. The heat was coming off of her in waves, she was radiating with it. The poison was moving through her system fast, and it was destroying everything in its way, sending her body temperature considerably higher than what would be normal even if she was human.

"You're burning up," he muttered worriedly.

"You think I'm hot, huh?" She smiled painfully. "You're not so bad yourself."

"We should get you out of here," Angel said. "You'd be safer in the bomb shelter."

"I'm okay here," she told him, trying to smile reassuringly, but failing miserably. Her hand was shaking when she lifted it to wipe sweat from her face.

"We don't want to move until we're sure the bloodhounds lost our trail," she continued in a strained voice. "Too risky." He wanted to tell her that it didn't matter – that he would gladly take the risk for her, for getting her to a safer place. But he knew it was a rash decision, one that might very well kill them both if the Council was still out there. So he stayed silent. Buffy swallowed, gathering her strength.

"So you're saying poison. Yeah, pretty much expected, what with the sweating and burning… What kind of poison is it?"

Angel realized she hadn't heard his phone call to L.A. after all, at least not all of it. Too bad. It would have been easier if she'd known.

"It's… um…"

"Come on. I'm I gonna be a toad, or what? Scaly skin? Will my fangs rot?"

How was he supposed to tell her this? There was no easy way. Well, he should have learned that by now. There's never an easy way.

"I think it is… I mean, by the smell it is Killer of the dead."

Buffy was quiet for a moment.

"The same one Faith used on you," she said finally in a neutral voice. It wasn't a question, and she didn't sound afraid, not angry, not panicked. She was just stating the obvious fact. Angel looked at her sorrowfully, at a loss. He had no idea what to do right now – what was there for him to say that could make things better? Buffy already knew how serious this was, and so did he. No shallow words would make either of them feel better.

"So I'm gonna die again, huh? Seems I haven't done anything else these last few years. Or maybe being turned into a vampire doesn't count." It frightened Angel how calm she sounded. Did she view death like a release?

"I… I put Wesley on it, he's gonna try to find another cure. I'm sure he will call Giles too. Everyone's working on it."

_Another_ cure. Yeah, that was just it. They both knew all too well what the only known cure was, and that it was impossible for them to use that.

"Yeah, good luck with that." Buffy's arms trembled when she tried to get her jacket off, and Angel came to her aid. She looked at him with tired eyes when he pulled her slack arms out of the sleeves, folded the jacket and put it behind her head to support her neck.

"You know, all the guys researched it when you were sick. Even Xander, believe it or not." She chuckled a little but quickly stopped herself when pain overwhelmed her.

"We really tried. But there is only one cure, you know."

"Don't worry about that now," he whispered.

"Hmm. I don't know. No time like the present, especially when you'll be dead in a day," she murmured, sinking back into unconsciousness. Angel caressed her face very carefully, as if he was afraid that touching her too much would hurt her even further. He tugged his coat closer around her – an unimportant gesture of course, since she wouldn't actually feel cold even if her body temperature went down. He got up and started pacing the tunnel, frustration clawing at him. What was he supposed to do?

He couldn't just sit here and feel the life slip away from her for every minute; he had to do something. But what? Of course going to the source seemed like the obvious thing to begin with. He also knew that doing so came with the risk of getting killed instantly, but frankly, he didn't care. Getting killed trying to save Buffy would be better than going on living and knowing that he might have been able to save her.

He had no idea how much time she might have left, how quick her condition might escalate. How long had it been from he was shot when Buffy forced him to let her cure him? He didn't know exactly. Maybe 7 or 8 hours, or maybe it was more – his memories were fuzzy, to say in the least. Maybe it was less. Buffy had been shot closer to the heart, and in comparison to him, she was just a fledging vampire. Not that he knew it that would actually make any difference, but either way…

Things weren't looking good.

* * *

Giles was tired. He was so tired of bad news. He was so tired of the feeling of shock, and disgust, and fear, and guilt… all mixed together in his head. He was fairly certain all the events of the past few months must have sped up his aging considerably – at least it felt like it. 

He was sitting on the edge of his couch, staring at the receiver of his phone, which he had put on the table. For once he had decided to go home for lunch, and he was just about to head out, back to the Magic Box when the phone rang. It was Wesley, again. And he had thought that the last call was bad. Apparently, that was nothing.

Wesley hadn't said very much, but the few sentences he had spoken was quite enough. Something had gone horribly wrong in London – the Council had done something, and whatever it was… however it had gone down, the point of it all was that Buffy had been shot... shot and poisoned.

Infected with poison that had only one known cure – which was safely locked up in a prison somewhere in California, thousands of miles away from where Buffy was. Giles wasn't even sure which prison Faith was currently in. Wesley had said that Angel had called him, asking – no, ordering him to look for another cure.

Giles had heard the hopelessness in Wesley's voice when he had said it, and he had felt just the same thing himself. Bringing Faith to Buffy was out of the question. It would never work, merely the suggestion was ridiculous.

Even if they actually managed to find her, talk her into escaping the country to risk her life to save Buffy's, and break her out of the prison, they would never get there in time, and they would never a wanted criminal out of the country just like that.

So what were they supposed to do? Just come to terms with the fact that Buffy was in London somewhere, suffering horrible torment, death closing in on her for every minute that passed?

Giles closed his eyes for a second, trying to shut out the imaginary images of Buffy suffering just like Angel had last spring. It had gone very quick – his condition had been critical within hours. Who knew how long he would actually have lasted before dispersing into ashes on his bed. That couldn't happen to Buffy. It just couldn't.

Giles' body physically hurt when he got up from his seat. He wasn't sure when he had gotten to rest, sleep soundly without worrying, the last time.

He knew how worthless Wesley felt right now, because he felt it himself as well. They were Watchers born and raised, which meant that their strength mostly lay in their theoretical knowledge; researching, forming plans, coming up with ideas. And when it came to this… they had nothing.

It wasn't even either of them that had found the cure to the poison the last time; the kids had taken care of the research themselves, and done it brilliantly. Giles felt so tired. How was he supposed to go back there, to his magic shop, make the necessary calls to gather everyone and once again tell them the bad news? Well, he had to, obviously.

He often found himself forced to do big, tiring things that he didn't want to nowadays. Things he didn't even feel like he could master in a good way, things that might mean the difference between life and death for someone, and yet he was forced to try and do his best.

The recent events hadn't exactly done much good for his self esteem either. Not only had he let his Slayer get killed, he hadn't even been there afterwards. He hadn't done anything when he learned that she was in England, preparing to face a Council that he had known his whole life – perhaps he could have done something. Or perhaps not, but he should have tried.

He should have _been_ there.


	8. NO ONE CAN BREAK THE FALL

_A/N: Thank you for the reviews, guys. Keep 'em coming! Malakhim, remember that the only rule for a review is that it can never be too long! And, oh yeah, MysticWolf1, I think you're right, I do tend to isolate Buffy and Angel, and it's not always on purpose. It just turns out that way. This will however change and develop in time._

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**CHAPTER 8: NO ONE CAN BREAK THE FALL**

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Quentin drew a deep breath and held it for a second before he let it out as an audible sigh. He looked at each and every one of the Watchers that were sitting around the long table in their large conference room. Quentin was sitting on the short side, just in front of the large window that gave them a clear view out into the courtyard – at least in daylight.

Everyone was unusually silent, fiddling with their notepads and avoiding to look at him. They knew that they had failed. This evenings events had gone horribly wrong, and the Watchers of varying age and rank knew that Quentin was looking for someone to blame. Someone to point out as the weak link that had made the failure possible.

"How could this happen?" His voice was even, calculating. The silence in the room was palpable. They could hear cars driving by on the street outside, hear the ticking of a clock out in the hallway.

"We are looking into it, sir," a young Watcher said finally. Quentin quirked a brow.

"Looking into it?" he repeated. "Well, it's certainly reassuring to know that you take this matter so seriously." He slammed his fist down on the table, making everyone jump.

"It should already be solved!" he barked, letting out a little of the well hidden anger that lurked just beneath the surface. He calmed down before he spoke again.

"Poison has been stolen from our supply, and there is no sign of a forced entry, which means that one of our own must have done it. Do you realize how serious this is?"

"Certainly, sir," Rob Smythe spoke up. "The problem is, most of the staff has already gone home. When the Special ops team comes in tomorrow we will send them to retrieve Angelus and the turned Slayer…"

"Tomorrow?" Quentin looked at his assistant. "Tomorrow, the turned Slayer might already be dead. The poison's effect will kill her within 24 hours; perhaps considerably less. Do you realize in what state of mind Angelus will be left if that happens?"

"He will be… upset?" Quentin glared at the young Watcher who once more spoke up. He had the exasperating feeling that none of the people in the room realized how serious this was.

Not only had their plans been spoiled and possibly their only chance at catching both Angelus and Ms. Summers at the same time thrown to the wind; the one who was responsible must be from within the Council. Of course the outcome in Ms. Summer's case was the same as they had in mind; she would die, even though their agenda was not making her death such a painful one.

The problem lay in the matter of Angelus, centuries known for his territorial side. There was no doubt who he would hold responsible for the death of his mate. The question was what he was going to do about it.

The young, outspoken Watcher raised his gaze, looking somewhere over Quentin's shoulder.

"What is it?" he asked, annoyance clear in his voice.

"It's just… the window. I thought for sure I saw something…"

The rest of the Watcher's sentence was drowned out by the deafening sound of shattering glass.

Angel came crashing through the large window and before anyone had time to react or even move, he had gotten to Quentin, kicking his chair away and grabbing him by the throat. Angel spun the old man around and pinned him to his chest using his left arm. One of the other Watchers that were closest to them picked up a cross that she held in Angel's direction and another one reached for a crossbow. Angel yanked Quentin's throat.

"Nuh-uh. None of that, unless you want me to split your boss here in two, and when I say split in two, I mean literary," he snarled.

To the Watchers, it might sound like something Angelus would say – but it wasn't. Angelus would take pleasure in his comments, he would find some vulnerability in each and every single person in the room and expose it just to enjoy their reactions… and that wasn't even close to Angel's agenda. He wanted to save Buffy – however he had to act to do it.

"We're going to have a little talk, and to make sure it's strictly arrowless, I'm going to keep Quentin here. You know, I feel very close to you right now," Angel hissed in Quentin's ear. "It might be because I'm holding you in front of my heart, so if your buddies want to kill me, you go first." Quentin made a gesture to the watcher who was about to pick up the crossbow.

"Leave it Phillip," he hissed to the Watcher. "Sit down." And Phillip did so without a word.

"Very good," Angel said, letting his gaze run over the Watchers, trying to figure out how he should play this. If this pack of sheep knew anything, _anything_, he would get it out of them, however he needed to act to do so. The question was whether the direct, violent approach was the wisest thing to begin with.

"I suppose I don't need to explain to you people why I'm here," he began, keeping his voice even. "During this so called honorable meeting you set up, Buffy got shot. I guess you decided to throw 'the deal' to the wind, huh? Nice touch by the way, using the same poison you refused to give away any information about when I was infected."

"Actually, it wasn't us…" a blond Watcher began. Angel shot her a vicious glare.

"I don't care who gave the orders or cracked the idea. Your _Council_ is responsible, that's enough. Now I want you to tell me how to cure it."

They were all quiet and exchanging glances for a moment, unsure how to reply. A few of them suddenly became very interested in their shoes or the wallpaper across the room, while others looked at Quentin, hoping for answers.

"Or, we can move directly to the part where I snap your boss in two." Angel flashed a smirk. There was no satisfaction or joy behind the smile, and it wasn't his trademark – but he was glad to use it if it would scare information out of the watchers. Still, they seemed to hesitate.

"Why on earth should we tell _you_ anything?" Angel looked at Rob Smythe. Now, that boy would do anything to show off. Even keep his stiff-upper-lip and question 'the great Angelus' while Quentin's life was hanging completely in his hands. Angel frowned. He could smell fear oozing off him.

"Because I'm a very busy vampire," Angel said darkly. "I'm on a schedule here. Talk, or I'll decorate the walls with your bosses insides. I do have some experience in the area." He looked back at Smythe. "That clear enough for you?"

The dark watcher named Phillip stepped forward, slowly and carefully, as if approaching a rabid dog.

"Well, Angelus, we thought you already knew the cure," he said slowly. "Surely you used it yourself since you got out of it alive."

Phillip could see a flash of discontent and irritation in Angelus' eyes, but also one of misery and fear, the realization that maybe they really were telling the truth; maybe there really was nothing to do for his mate.

Phillip frowned for a second as he found himself almost pitying the creature that had his boss by the throat. He was a Watcher born and raised and he knew as much about Angelus' crimes as any other member of the Council. But if it was like Quentin had always told them, that Angelus with a soul was as unpredictable and evil as his soulless persona, why could he see human emotions, human fear and sadness in those eyes?

"There _has_ to be another cure," Angel demanded, and everyone with functioning ears must hear the genuine desperation in his voice. A gray-haired man sitting further down the table got up from his seat, his eyes meeting Angel's.

"There is no other cure than Slayer's blood known to us," Roger Wyndham Pryce said. "And even if there was, it wouldn't be used to cure the demon that wears the body of Ms. Summers."

"She is an innocent in this," Angel said, almost pleading. "I'm not, but she is. If you could cure her I would give myself up as an exchange for her life without hesitation. You're supposed to be the world's finest when it comes to mystical medicine? Then find a way to cure her. She's the best Slayer your Council's ever had under its wings."

"Perhaps she was. Now she is a demon – soul or not."

"Her demon has never had any chance to do any damage," Angel argued. "And it never will."

"You can't guarantee that," Roger said in a dry voice. "Just as you can't guarantee that you won't loose your soul yet another time. Difficult times call for unique measures. She might be an innocent right now, but it makes no difference. What is inside her must be terminated."

Angel stared at the man, having no idea what to say next. It was like talking to a wall. Their opinion was already clear, and they wouldn't change their mind – just like Wesley had warned him that they wouldn't. On some level he had known it. Sadly he was fairly sure that if there actually was another cure for the poison, these people knew nothing about it. None of them seemed to be lying. He let his gaze run over them again, hoping to see something, anything, in someone of them.

But he didn't.

"Alright," he said at last, "but if I find out that you're lying and there is a cure… just know I'll be coming back for you." He pushed Quentin away so roughly that he stumbled over Rob Smythe, both of them tumbling to the floor.

"Hell, I might just be coming back for you anyway," Angel finished and leapt the same window he came in through.

The Watchers were all silent for a while, the only sound that was heard in the room was Rob and Quentin getting to their feet, broken glass crunching under their shoes as they moved.

"Do you think he will?" the blonde Watcher named Lydia said at last. Quentin massaged his throat and shot a glance towards the window, swallowing against the pain.

"I wouldn't worry," Smythe said. "They say he doesn't hurt humans when he has his soul."

* * *

Willow stared at the drops of water that were slowly, quietly making their way down the window. It was raining outside. A lot. The air inside even felt a little damp.

She shoved her right hand through her hair, arranging the still wet strands as well as she could without a comb. She stared down at the book she had open in front of her, but she didn't see the words anymore. She had read it already – she knew what it said. She knew that there was no useful information in it.

She looked over at Xander who sat across the table. He still had his working clothes on, he had come straight from work, and his shining yellow hardhat was sitting on the table next to all the book piles. He reflected in it, and his loud yellow reflection looked just as sad and tired as he did himself. He stared into space, his hands perfectly still in his lap.

Giles sat behind the counter on a chair, resting his head in his hands. It was after midnight – he had worked tirelessly for almost 12 hours. He had been making calls – he had even tried to get through to the Council, without any success. He had read every single book he thought might tell them something useful and a few he was sure _wouldn't_ be useful… He had found nothing.

_Nothing_. No references, no smidges of a solution, no possible things to work on – nothing. No hope.

He knew it might already be too late. Buffy might already be gone… they had no idea. He had called Wesley a few times, until he told him to stop calling and keeping the phone line busy – if they heard anything from Angel, they would contact him immediately.

Anya sat on a pile of heavy books, leaning against one of the many bookshelves in the store. The utter, complete silence was eerie. No one had said a word for hours – no one was moving, no one made a single sound strong enough for human ears to hear.

She looked at Xander, trying to get him to actually look back at her, not just have his gaze pointed in her direction. Nothing seemed to be going on behind his eyes. His dark orbs were directed her way, but he didn't look at her. He stared into nothingness – a shell of empty despair.

Two years ago or so, this would have made her rejoice. In fact, the whole point of her taking on the persona of "Anya - High School-student" was to break Xander, make him suffer. Back then, she _wanted_ this. Right now, she wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel.

Of course, she wasn't glad that Xander was hurting… she wanted him to talk, and laugh, and hug her… not just sit there, pale and still like a corpse… but she couldn't relate to his feelings. She didn't quite understand them. It made her uncomfortable and sad, and frustrated, all at once. She wanted to feel what he felt, understand his human-like emotions, but she couldn't.

She couldn't tell him that. She couldn't tell him that it was a millennia and change of unspeakable destruction and death that made her somewhat less than well-adjusted to what was expected of her as a human being. He would feel embarrassed for her, and Willow would say something about that not being a valid excuse for however long.

So she didn't say anything.

A book, balancing on top of a pile much too high fell to the floor with a loud thud. They all jumped, glaring at the book that had interrupted the long silence and all of their grave thoughts.

"Shouldn't anyone say something?" Anya said after another moment of silence. "Shouldn't anyone say, 'at least only one book fell', and a second later the rest of them will fall to the floor too, and this uncomfortable silence will be ended?" Everyone stared at her.

"It's what would happen if this was a comical sketch," she muttered.

"Well, it isn't," Willow said calmly and silently, but still she managed to find an annoyed edge in her voice. "This is real, and very un-comical."

"Well, still," Anya murmured, realizing that she was heading into a dead end from which she might not be able to escape without making a fool of herself. "Nothing wrong with a little healthy perkiness during difficult times. Like when Xander made all his jokes when Angelus was running around and raining destruction over us, remember?"

"Angelus." Xander snorted, getting up from his seat. "Yeah, but this if anything proves that it's not only _Angelus_ that's 'raining destruction', huh?" He started pacing.

"Some kind of love," he murmured. "I mean, Buffy has gone up against a lot of bad guys, but damn it, no one has hurt her more than him."

"Xander," Willow said softly, trying to get him to realize that it wouldn't be any good to throw around the blame.

"I mean it!" he continued with heat. "How many of our friends has he killed over the last few years? I guess it's only fitting that he's the one responsible for her final death too."

"You can't blame Angel for what the Council's done," Willow continued calmly.

"A Slayer dating the greatest mass murder in history. That's _sick_, and you know it too," he went on. He watched them for a second, but didn't get any response. "You know what?" Xander continued. "Sometimes I almost wonder if Angel's heroic and nice attitude when he has a soul is just an act to get Buffy to trust him, so he can do even more damage to her. The evil genius and master of mind games show up in Sunnydale, sweeping the gullible 16 year old of her feet. Pretending to be a champion. Slowly destroying her life." Giles shot Xander a stern look.

"That's enough Xander!" he said sharply, uttering his first few words for hours. "Blaming Angel for the things he's done without his soul is one thing. Suggesting that his feelings for Buffy should be other than true and genuine is something else, and you're taking it too far." He calmed down before he spoke again. "Now, if you truly want to help instead of just disturbing the rest of us, continue searching for a cure."

"It's useless anyway, there is nothing. We've been through it," Xander argued. Giles removed his glasses and started cleaning them,

"Well, we can't give up. We'll just have to keep looking instead of wasting our time and energy with bickering; it won't do any good, and…"

"A spell." Giles fell silent, putting his glasses back. He looked at Willow.

"Excuse me?"

"I can do a spell. At least I think so, I've found one that might help." Giles blinked several times, trying to figure out what to answer – how he could say 'no - absolutely, definitely no' in a way that Willow wouldn't dismiss.

"And this spell… is done specifically to cure a vampire from this poison?" he began slowly. Willow shrugged.

"Well, no. Not really. Do you remember the ritual Spike used to cure Drusilla that time?"

"Certainly, but…" Giles trailed off. "You're not thinking about using _that _specific ritual, are you?" Willow nodded shortly.

"I am. Just think about it – it should work. The ritual will cleanse Buffy from the poison and give her strength from the blood of her sire."

"You mean Angel," Xander cut in. He shook his head.. "Bad, bad idea."

"Even if what you're suggesting would actually work out… and I'm not at all convinced that it would, that ritual restores the childe through killing the sire," Giles argued. "There is a great risk that Angel would die from it." Xander raised his eyebrows and nodded.

"Good, good idea!" Willow frowned at him.

"I've thought about that, but I don't think he will. He didn't last time, remember. Look, Giles, I want to try this. You said it yourself, we can't give up."

"Give up on finding a solution that might actually work, yes! Let's say you're right, and, and everything would work out… how do you plan to get to London in time?"

"Teleportation, maybe. Haven't really thought about it." Giles frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well, it's about time that you do! This is madness, Willow! Think about what you're saying here, think about the risks."

"I _have_. I really think it can be done, but if it makes you feel better, I can talk to Spike about it…"

"Talk to me about what?"

They all fell silent, turning to the door. They hadn't even heard him come in. Water was dripping from his coat and he had a suspicious frown on his face. Well, it was expected that he might show up. After all, no one had bothered telling him what was going on with Buffy. He didn't know anything about England, or the Council.

"Oh joy, it's our favorite drenched rat," Xander muttered.

"Spike," Giles began, considering whether to tell the vampire to get the hell out – thus dismissing a possible useful source of information, or tell him the whole story. It would take time, and he wouldn't be happy. He looked at him and decided.

"Spike. Sit down, er, if you will." Spike must have heard something in Giles' voice, something that told him that he shouldn't question this – just stay and listen.

"There is something we need to tell you."

* * *

"Any luck?"

Cordelia silently shook her head as she put the book she had been reading in the pile of those they had found useless. They had gone over all research material they had, including the Internet, and they had found descriptions of "Killer of the dead" in several places – but all the sources were in agreement; there was only one known cure.

Before Angel, there was only one recorded case of a vampire walking away from it, and he had drained a killed a Slayer in doing so. The situation seemed hopeless. Angel Investigations were supposed to help the hopeless. But who was there to help _them_ when they needed it?

"No luck." Wesley nodded. He had already known what she would answer. He looked over at Gunn who, in his frustration, had resorted to alphabetize the swords in the weapons cabinet. At first, Wesley had been mad at him for giving up – that was two hours ago.

Now he was beginning to think that perhaps Gunn had done the wisest thing. He had realized that there was nothing more they could do. No matter how many times they turned pages back and forth, no matter how many searches Cordelia typed on the computer, they couldn't create anything that didn't exist.

"There really isn't any other cure, is there?" Cordelia said finally. Wesley pulled out a chair and sat down.

"I-I honestly don't know, Cordelia. I don't think so. I mean… if the Council used it, they must have a purpose for doing so. They must know that there is only one cure for the toxin, one that would be impossible to use in this case."

"Poor Angel," Cordelia said silently. She hadn't been there, hadn't seen it when it was Angel who was dying from the poison, but she had heard enough about it. Pain, hallucinations, high fewer… now Buffy was going through the same thing. And the only thing he could to was watch it happen.

"Yes… quite," Wesley said tonelessly. Cordelia looked at her watch, trying to figure out what time it was in London right now.

"I wonder what they're doing right now," she sighed. "I wonder how he feels."


	9. IN THE ARMS OF THE ANGEL

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**CHAPTER 9: IN THE ARMS OF THE ANGEL**

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_Angel woke up from a light slumber when he heard noises from outside of the small tunnel in which he and Buffy hid. Was it the Council, were they onto them? Moving her as little as possible he slid away from Buffy, tugged his coat around her again and looked at her for a few moments before he started off down the tunnel. _

_The sound was louder… like small explosions in his ears, over and over again. He knew he shouldn't go out onto the street just like that – especially not now, after having approached the Council, but something pulled at him to go there. So he climbed, and lifted the manhole cover. And he stepped up, onto the street._

_It was completely empty._

_No cars, no people, no nothing… except for that the city looked just like when he last saw it, there were lights everywhere, the buildings were where they were supposed to…London looked like it should on the outside... but it was completely empty. _

_He turned his head to look at the Council's building, but when he looked in its direction, it was gone. Completely missing, as if someone had just pulled it out of the ground, put it on a wagon and wheeled it away. _

_Angel scratched his head. The sound returned, even louder this time, and soon the reason became obvious. A helicopter was about to land only yards away from him. A helicopter, here, right in the middle of the street? He stood back as it descended, revealing three passengers that came out of it and approached him._

"_Wesley! Willow? Giles? What are you all doing here?" he asked loudly, trying to be heard over the loud chopper. _

"_Willow has an idea on how to bring Buffy back to us," Wesley replied. "David Nabbit lent us his helicopter." Angel glanced at it._

"_You came all the way from L.A. in a chopper?" _

"_We have to hurry. Where is Buffy?" _

"_She's… she's down in the sewers." Angel looked at Wesley oddly, not sure what else to say. The whole situation was strange._

"_She is far from you, yet so very close," Wesley said understanding, putting a hand on Angel's shoulder. He frowned._

"_Um… right." Angel looked towards the spot where the Council had – usually had – their headquarters._

"_Where is the Council?" he asked Wesley and Giles. They looked at each other and shook their heads._

_"What?" Angel demanded._

"_You shouldn't. You have no idea," Wesley said sadly. Angel scowled._

"_What? Shouldn't what? Wes, what are you talking about?" _

"_We have to hurry." _

_They moved quickly down into the tunnels where Buffy still lay in the same position that Angel had left her. Willow lit incense and gave it to Angel._

"_Stinky herbs are good for many occasions," she said tonelessly, and he looked strangely at her. _

_Willow turned away and lit a torch which she held to Buffy's chest, setting her shirt on fire. Angel stared at them for a moment while the fire spread. Buffy just lay there, not even reacting when the flames that now covered her whole body scorched her._

"_Wesley, do something!" Angel shouted. "She's burning up, help her! Willow, stop it!" He tried to run up to Buffy to put out the fire and save her, but Giles and Wesley held him back with firm hands – very firm hands. He couldn't get free. _

"_Let me go," he hissed, trying to yank his arms away._

"_We can't let you go, Angel," Giles said, his voice echoing in a strange way. "You have no idea what will happen… what the ramifications will be."_

"_Ramifications? I have to save her! What else am I good for?" he heard himself say, ripping his left arm free from Wesley. "I don't need your for that. I have to do this by myself," he continued._

"_Don't," Wesley said, reaching for him, but he turned away. He looked at Buffy, who was still on fire, but it didn't seem to hurt her. _

"_Willow, you have to stop this," he said, grabbing Willow's arm. She turned to him._

"_I can't. We can't interfere, none of us, or she'll never come back. This is how it has to be, you have to remember that." _

"_But I can't watch her die… not again. It's my fault. All of this, it's my fault." Willow looked at him, her eyes big and cold. Empty, in a way. Darker than usual._

"_It is. But you have a chance to make it all go away. But you have to let her go first." Angel stared at her for a moment before he turned his gaze back to Buffy, who's body wasn't much more than glowing embers by now. _

"_Remember," Willow whispered. "If you want her back." Angel turned around to look at her, but when he did, she was gone. They were all gone. He looked back at where Buffy had been, but there was no trace of her. No fire, no ashes, nothing. She was gone._

"_Buffy?" His voice echoed slightly in the empty tunnel. He was completely alone.  
_

"_Angel," she heard her voice from somewhere… far away._

"_Buffy? Buffy, where are you?" He felt someone touch his arm from behind._

"_Here."_

Angel woke up when he smacked his head into the hard tunnel wall, his whole body shuddering – not from the cold, dank air in the tunnel of course, but from what had just happened. He touched his arm, where she had touched… he blinked, once, twice. She was right there in front of him.

Still lying on in his coat on the cold, damp tunnel floor.

A dream. Right? He looked around the tunnel just to be sure. Yeah, definitely a dream… but it was so… so vivid. And very strange. He remembered most of it, but he couldn't understand what it meant. He picked up his cellphone from his pocket, thinking that maybe he should call Wes and tell him about it…

At least that was the plan, until he found the phone to be dead. He shook it viciously a few times, but he soon gave up, realizing that he wouldn't be able to bring it back this time. It might have broken when he crashed through the window into the Council, or it might have gotten wet at some point in the sewers… or maybe it was simply being a defiant little shit, just to piss him off.

He threw it across the tunnel and felt an odd, misplaced form of satisfaction when he saw it shatter and the pieces fall to the ground. Ah. He had been wanting to do that for a while.

He felt Buffy move slightly in his lap, moaning quietly. Her eyes moved behind her eyelids and she pulled her mouth into a pained grimace.

"Buffy," he croaked, hoping that he could keep her from sinking back into consciousness. He wanted so badly to talk with her, especially after the strange dream. He wanted so badly for her to wake up, for a miracle to happen... He just wished for this living nightmare to end.

She opened her eyes slowly, and he felt her fingers move, her small hand enveloped in his.

"You're… you're here," Buffy managed, smiling at him and squeezing his hand.

"I'm here," he assured her, tucking a wisp of damp hair behind her ear. She was warm and sweaty – he knew that her system was about to give up. And he couldn't do anything about it.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, her face twitching in pain, pain and… shame? He tried to look her in the eyes, but she didn't focus on him. She was – empty.

"What… what are you sorry about?" he asked softly, not understanding.

"I'm so sorry I killed you," she whispered, hot tears trickling down her cheeks. Her tears shouldn't be hot.

"Mom… I'm so sorry I couldn't save you."

Angel swallowed, fighting against his own tears. It wasn't the first time it happened – she was hallucinating. He had done it too when he was sick. He had seen Buffy everywhere – Buffy was seeing her dead family… and evidently, she blamed herself for their deaths, despite the fact that _he_ was the one that had killed them. He was the responsible one, not her. Would her suffering never end?

"Shh, it's alright," he soothed her.

"Tell Dawn… tell her. I'm so sorry. About everything," Buffy said, her voice nothing more than a whisper. He felt her hand go limp in his. She was sinking back into unconsciousness like so many times during the last few hours.

"I'm sorry too," Angel said silently, even though he realized that Buffy might already be too far gone to hear him.

This time it took just a few minutes before her eyelids fluttered and she woke up again. She looked straightly at him, and it was hard to believe that she had been so far gone in her delirium just moments ago.

"This isn't… how I imagined it," she said. "Dying, I mean. I thought that okay, I'm gonna be a vampire… at least that means I'll have a quick and… fairly painless death."

Angel just studied her without saying anything.

"'Cause, you know… The way the vampires look when you stake them or behead them… I don't think they're suffering." She paused for a second, maybe she gathered strength before she spoke again. "Is it morning?"

"Yeah, it is," Angel said quietly.

"Huh. I'm never going be outside again. Never see the sky… or anything else." She started to shake as horrible pain once more washed over her. She started coughing, and even though it caused her great pain she couldn't break it off. Angel held her as still as he could until her small body stopped convulsing, jerking with every cough. When she pulled her arm away from her mouth he could see dark blood on her light sleeve.

"Please… can't you just end it?" she whimpered, unable to speak in a normal tone of voice. "You don't have to feel guilty about it." Angel almost considered doing it for a moment, considered relieving her from her torment… but then he remembered how final it would be.

"I can't," he said. "Would you have killed me if I'd asked for it?" Buffy shook her head.

"No," she whispered. "I guess not."

They sat like that the whole day, talking as much as Buffy had the strength to. Angel saw her condition get worse for every hour that passed. Her body temperature started going down a few hours before noon, quickly decreasing until she was as cold as the floor of the sewer tunnel she was laying on. Angel wanted to keep her warm, so he held her in his lap even though he knew it was of no use. After all he was just as cold as her, and his coat didn't provide much protection anymore; it was cold and wet.

At some point around noon she slipped into a coma like state, she didn't speak or move or even open her eyes. She would have been a dead body for anyone else, but Angel could still feel her presence.

It was when the sun set again three, maybe four hours later, that something happened. Her eyelids fluttered and her arms and legs twitched as if she was having a seizure. She became still again and opened her eyes. She tried to lick her dry lips to be able to move her mouth and make sound, tried to moist her throat so that it could form the words she wanted to utter. He wanted so badly to aid her somehow, but he didn't know how.

"My Angel," she said, her voice very silent, but still clear and sharp. Angel's eyes filled with tears – tears of sadness and helplessness. She was dying and he couldn't do anything about it.

When the sun was completely gone behind the horizon that dank, cold December afternoon… Buffy died.

There was nothing he could do to stop it, or slow it down, or ease her pain… he could only take on the role of the people responsible for all this and watch. He watched her die. The expression that went over her face the second before she turned to dust was a… a relieved one. She looked at ease – thankful.

At the same moment she was gone, Angel stopped. He stopped feeling guilty, and sad, and devastated, he cut all those feelings off. They were emotions that would hinder him in what he had to do next.

It was time for the Dark Avenger to do his name justice.

* * *

"_The number you are trying to reach is being checked for trouble. Please try your call again later."_

Cordelia sighed deeply and hung up the phone. Wesley looked at her, and she shook her head.

"Nothing. It's going all 'the number cannot be reached' or whatever." Wesley frowned.

"Just like the last five times you called, then," Gunn commented, taking another bite of his breakfast burrito.

"Do you think… do you think it's happened?" Cordelia's voice was small – mostly because she was worried about Angel, but also because she was having a headache. It was strange – she hadn't had a vision since the Bucah, and that was almost a week ago now. Well, of course it was perfectly possible that her head hurt because she was worried, lacked sleep and food, and jumping at every single sound that could be the telephone. It was a tense situation.

"I think… if Angel hasn't by any miracle find a cure…" He faltered. "If things went down the way we feared that they should… then yes… I think so."

Cordelia nodded slowly. Gunn stopped chewing and swallowed hard.

It was difficult to really grip it. A few days ago – Buffy and Angel had been here, had been fine. Now Buffy was dead? Murdered by the Council?

And Angel was impossible to reach. None of them said anything, but of course they were worried. During the last few months Angel had grown even closer to Buffy than he had when they were together before. They had been practically inseparable, after everything they had been through.

She was the true love of his very long life and she was bound to him as a childe by blood – what would happen to Angel when she was brutally ripped from him by people he already hated? Would he be able to get back from that? Cordelia sat down on a chair, resting her head in her hands.

Wesley was ashamed of himself. Twenty-two months or so ago he had come to Sunnydale, annoyed everyone with his snotty attitude and so called vast theoretical knowledge. But when it came down to business, when someone's life was hanging on a thread more or less literally, he couldn't save them.

When push came to shove… he was useless.

He had failed Faith,_ his_ Slayer, and he hadn't been able to help Angel when he was poisoned… and now he had failed Buffy was well. What good was all years of studying if he couldn't transform his knowledge to something useful in the real world?

"I wonder… I wonder how Angel is," Cordelia said after a long silence. Wesley cleared his throat.

"Didn't he… er, handle your friend Doyle's death pretty well?" Cordelia shrugged.

"Well yeah, I guess. If you call closing up like a big clam of despair handling it well. Anyway, Angel cared about Doyle, but as a friend… And Buffy… Buffy's…"

"More than that," Wesley finished for her. "Yes."

"If he would only call," Cordelia muttered, staring at the phone, as if commanding it to ring.

"Well, when he gets back, we'll talk to him," Gunn said.

"Yes, yes," Wesley said absently. "We'll be there for him." Cordelia nodded.

"As soon as he comes back."


	10. SO FOUL AND FAIR A DAY

_A/N: Thank you, reviewers. Reviewers, thank you. All of you. I'm repeating myself, aren't I? Oh well. I feel I should reply to the "mate"-thing. As you may have noticed, it's only the Council that uses the word to describe Buffy and Angel's relationship - intentionally, of course. I'm using the word, and other similar ones, to point out how the Council views B/A - not as a couple in love, but as a demon-pair. The word will be mocked by some of the characters further down the line. Oh, and BloodThirstyGoddess. There is more. There is much, much more. The story, this part of it anyway, is about 330 pages in Word at the moment, and not completely finished..._

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CHAPTER 10: SO FOUL AND FAIR A DAY**

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Quentin Travers sat in his office late at night, finishing some paperwork. It was Christmas Eve, but it didn't matter. After all, a good Watcher always had to be alert and ready – regardless of holidays and alike.

And right now, work was piling up, to say in the least. He had called the entire Council to a meeting the following afternoon at which they were going to discuss the most suitable way to handle Angelus from now on. They wanted to stop him from leaving London, and they realized that they had to be ready for an assault when the turned Slayer finally succumbed to the poison wearing down her body. Who knew what he might do?

When the door opened with a slight creak, Quentin found himself stiffen slightly, but he quickly covered it when he saw his secretary step inside.

"Sir, it has happened," she said. "The turned Slayer is dead." He nodded slowly.

"Thank you, Nancy. I'm about to leave for home now, but make sure that any news regarding Angelus before tomorrow morning gets reported straight to me."

"Yes, sir."

Quentin turned off his computer, which he hadn't actually used at all today – would he ever get used to drumming his fingers on a keyboard instead of holding a pencil in his hand? – and put some important papers in his briefcase before he exited the office, walking through the dark, empty halls to get out of the building.

He would have to contact that law firm in Los Angeles tomorrow – Wolfram & Hart. Even though he was still doubtful that they would actually prove to be much of an asset, this might be the perfect time to contact them. He wouldn't admit it out loud to anyone, but if they wanted to take Angelus out as quickly and smoothly as possible, they might very well need help.

Quentin stepped outside, inhaling a deep breath and holding it in his lungs for a moment before releasing it again. Well, not that the air in London was the most refreshing, clean source of oxygen, but it was better than inside the old building. He hadn't been outside all day. Now he was heading home to enjoy a good scotch, reloading for tomorrow when the matter of Angelus would be discussed mor thoroughly with all his colleagues Council.

When Quentin searched through his pocket, looking for his car keys, he heard something behind him. Someone? He turned around, scanning the dark parkinglot, only lit by a few faint lanterns at the entrance. Nothing. He shrugged to himself and turned around to open the car door.

"Hello, Mr. Travers."

Quentin jumped at the familiar voice, cursing inwardly for letting himself show that he was startled. He spun around, staring straight into Angelus' eyes. His… unusually grim eyes.

Well, he had after all just lost his mate – and Quentin knew that Angelus had always regarded threats against his females seriously.

"Angelus," he greeted, not sure how to act. The ensouled Angelus didn't kill humans without a good reason – all the records of him were in agreement. The question was exactly what would fit into the "good reason"-category. Should he try to get into the car and drive away like a maniac, a coward? No. He was head of the Watcher's Council – of course he would stand up to Angelus. Right decision or not.

"What can I do for you?" Quentin asked as gentle as he possibly could, keeping his voice steady.

"Oh, well, not much. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am." Quentin stared at him blankly.

"Excuse me?"

"I've wanted to do this for a long time. And now, when I finally have no reasons left _not_ to do it… I can't return what you gave even the slightest bit." He paused for a second. "And I'm so very sorry about that."

The next moment was one of perfect stillness, complete silence, during which neither man nor vampire moved or spoke. At least one of them knew what was going to happen next – and probably the other one as well.

And then, the moment was over.

Angel grabbed Quentin's head and twisted it hard to the side, looking him straight in the eyes for the split second it took before the body slumped to the ground. He stared blankly at the body, no emotions entering his mind. It was an accustomed move, and accustomed situation which made his demon sheer inwardly.

But Angel himself felt nothing.

* * *

Rob Smythe stepped into his office for some late night work. Yes, it was Christmas, and everyone else – including Quentin, had gone home, ours ago in fact… but this was the way he worked. His position on the way up within the Council wasn't one earned through dawdling and long, unnecessary holidays. Besides, with everything going on – with the recent news of Buffy Summers' death… there was plenty of work to be done. 

To Robert's surprise, the small lamp at his desk was on, spreading a stream of light over part of the large office.

Someone was there.

When he realized who was sitting at his desk, he froze. The dark figure almost looked like a ghost in the blue-ish light from the computer screen. Smythe backed away and tried to leave as quickly and quietly as he could. Just as he put his hand on the doorknob the still figure at his desk moved. He could practically feel the hard gaze, burning in his back.

"Please don't try and leave, Mr. Smythe," Angel said in a low, dangerous voice. "I'd have to stop you." Considering for a moment to ignore the comment and go on with his escape, Smythe kept his hand on the doorknob. How far would he get before getting caught? Would he be able to get outside? The streets might be pretty empty on a night like this – most people were at home with their families after all, but still. It was safer than here.

"I know what you're thinking, and I'm just saying for your own good; don't. It won't be pretty," the vampire said. Smythe turned around slowly, finding that Angelus was still sitting in his chair, behind the desk. Was he really that confident that he wouldn't dare trying to escape?

Or maybe his confidence regarded being sure that he would be able to catch him either way.

"What are you doing here?" Smythe asked, glancing at his computer. Computers – they were a fairly new idea within the Council, but they had found that it was the simplest way to keep track of files, maintain contact with other organizations. Of course everything in it was strictly confidential. And as far as he knew, he had made sure to log off last time he was here.

"Oh, yeah. I'm taking a look inside your private files." Angel nodded at the computer.

So much for the password then. Perhaps his birthday wasn't the greatest idea – but it was what the instruction manual for the computer had suggested…

"You don't mind, do you? Seeing as I am one of the worst vampires that you have in your records, I'd think you'd want to have a professional opinion from an insider's point of view. I found a few interesting facts. And yeah, there were some files in there I just happened to throw away."

"W-what do you want?"

"That's a big question. Not a great question, not one you would expect from Mr. Robert Smythe, runner-up for the head-boy title in the Watcher's Academy." Smythe winced slightly. Ah, spot-on. Just as Angelus was known for. No, he hadn't been the best, number one back at the academy, and it was a sensitive spot. Especially considering who _had_ been the top student.

"Seems Wes kicked your ass even back in school, huh?" Angel said, smiling slightly. Smythe just stared at him, and Angel shrugged.

"Very well, let's get back to your question. What do I want? You know that the thing is?" He got up from the chair and approached him slowly. "Whatever it is that I want, I'm not gonna have it again. Ever. Someone ruined it. This somehow inclines me to… ruin things, too."

"B-but I didn't shoot you mate."

Angel shot him an evil glare. "There is that word again, what is that? _Mate._ What do you think vampires are, huh? Birds? Fishes?"

"I-I didn't mean…"

"Of course you didn't. You were just following the exact same pattern as hundreds before you, reading and learning from the same books you people used hundreds of years ago, staying well within the Council's narrow-minded ways. Must be nice. So cut and clean." He fell silent, studying Smythe, who soon felt his skin crawl, his hands tremble slightly under the hard gaze.

"What – what do you want me to do?" he asked finally. "Your… _she_ is already dead. There is nothing to do about it."

"Why don't you tell me the story again. Tell me how nobly the Council chooses young girls, and for what purpose."

Smythe stared at him blankly for a moment. Surely he already knew all this – Angelus had met and studied all the three active Slayers during the last few years, not to mention followed one around more or less involuntary when William the Bloody made his name known by killing a Slayer at the Boxer Rebellion.

"Well," he began warily.

"Go on."

"The, uh, the Council believes that… vampires are demons and demons need to be eradicated. The Council fights evil. The Slayer is the instrument by which the Council fights. The Slayers change and the Council remains, it's always been like that."

"Of course it has," Angel said in a weary voice. "Those are really the featured words here, aren't they? Instrument. Always. You've always viewed the current girl whose life you've turned into a living hell as nothing but a tool. That little statement alone pretty much explains everything, doesn't it. Well, I guess it's about time to – shake things up a bit around here."

Smythe frowned. "Excuse me?"

"Let's just say that times change, and time has a tendency to change the way of things. Believe me, I know." He flashed a tired smile – not a smirk, and not even Smythe could find anything evil or gleeful in it.

"I can tell you that your freelancing Watchers are doing a whole lot better than you and your buddies here in the heart of London are. Yeah, you know, as soon as they shrugged off the suit and started getting into the action themselves, they developed from useless bookworms to actual fighters."

"So… what are you going to do about it?" Smythe asked, trying to figure out if there was any possible way to escape. There were no guards left in the house, and the other Watchers and secretaries might very well have gone home. Still. He couldn't just stand here and wait for Angelus to tire of the talking-act.

"I'm tired," Angel said, and even though his voice held slight mockery, Smythe realized that he was probably honest. "And paying back what you put her through brings me little joy." He took a few steps.

"Not much," he said silently, and Smythe finally grasped that if he wanted to try and escape, he better do it soon. As in now.

Not realizing that Angel knew what he was going to do even before he had decided it himself, Smythe lunged at the door, ripping it open. Angel was only a second behind him, and Smythe took off running down the hall – away from the stairs leading down to the main entrance. He was highly distressed and unable to act sensibly; he didn't have any previous experience of facing a vampire by himself. Of course he had met a few under controlled circumstances, and once he had followed the Special ops team on a hunt as a mandatory part of his education… but this was completely new territory.

Panting heavily from running in his suit and slippery shoes, fear and sweat was oozing from the Watcher, telling Angel exactly where he was and where he was headed, even for the few moments he was out of his line of vision. Smythe disappeared around a corner and the panting stopped for a second, his heartbeat quickly growing stronger. Angel knew what expected him when he rounded the corner.

With a high-pitched shriek that probably would have made even the old, stuffy Wesley laugh out loud, Smythe attacked Angel, beating him with his briefcase when he approached him. He got in a hit, which did no damage, but the rest of his moves were easily deflected. Well, at least the boy had stopped to fight instead of running like a sissy-girl. Angel had to give him props for that.

With a growl Angel grabbed the briefcase and ripped it from Smythe's hands, throwing it to the side. He grabbed Smythe by the arms, pinning them to his chest forcing him backwards against the large window of the opposite side of the hallway. A few of them had bars on the outside – but not this one. Smythe didn't even struggle, didn't scream or make any sounds. Maybe he had realized that the battle was lost.

"Of course, sometimes a little joy is enough," Angel hissed, staring deeply into Smythe's eyes for a second. The next moment he pushed him backwards hard, hearing glass shatter, Smythe scream for his life – all ended by a thud.

* * *

"This is ridiculous. We can't stand around here, waiting for him all day," Weatherby muttered. It was early morning, still before dawn. The air was raw and cold – it was raining and chilly wind was biting at the group of men waiting for the last member of the group – Wallace Green. 

The ten men were ready to start their working day – much sooner than they wanted to, not to mention sooner than they had been told that they would have to. The original order from Travers had told them to begin the search for Angelus after dawn when he could no longer move around freely in the city.

Of course, all that changed when Roger Wyndham Pryce and the other overly ambitious types who came to work hours ago now, had found Travers and his little nancy-boy helper dead. Quentin had been found in the parking lot, sitting slumped against his car with his neck broken. Smythe had been scraped up from the courtyard, and a shattered window on the fourth floor soon told them what had happened to him.

There was no doubt about who had done these things, of course. Even if the killings didn't match his old records at all - there didn't seem to be much joy, art, or creativity behind these kills, he was the only suspect. And now, because of this, the search for Angelus would have to be stepped up, which meant longer, harder working days for the Special ops team.

At least for those who bothered showing up.

"Poofter's not coming anyway, haven't seen him for days," another man shrugged. "Might as well take off instead of wasting our time here."

"Yeah. And I'm _afraid_ we'll have to report to Wyndham-Pryce at the meeting, that Green didn't show his face today," Weatherby smirked. Well, he couldn't help being a little satisfied with the situation. Green had always been the traitorous, unreliable one. More than once he had talked about leaving the Council, not to mention all the times he had wanted to do things completely differently than the orders they had been given told them to. Good to be rid of the ponce, at least for today.

The men loaded themselves in the back of the truck while Collins and Weatherby placed themselves in the front seat.

"You know, I've waited for this," Weatherby said. "Finally getting to hunt down and kill that bastard any way we want."

"Hmm," Collins muttered, putting the car key in the ignition.

"Yeah. I think this is going to be a pretty good day," Weatherby continued. "I can feel it."

"Sure you can."

When Collins turned the key the car exploded with a horrible crash. Burning bits and pieces were scattered across the whole parking lot, setting off alarms of the surrounding cars.

After a minute, all that was heard in the parking lot was the crackle from fire, slowly put out by the pouring ice-cold rain.

* * *

Roger Wyndham Pryce was highly distressed even if his cool exterior showed nothing of it. If was amusing really, how quickly things could change. A day ago the situation with Angelus hadn't concerned him at all – since then, so much had happened. 

Everyone was there – everyone who was still alive, that was. It was Christmas Day – holiday for most of London, but not for the Council. All Watchers, secretaries and the entire Special ops team had been called in. The team had been sent out to search through the nearby sewers and other underground retreats.

Their van had been rigged – the explosion was powerful enough to kill all the men instantly, leaving their bodies practically unidentifiable. They hadn't known that Angelus was technical as well before that, even though it was expected on some level. The member of the Special ops team, Wallace Green who had spied on them in Salt Lake City had found sketches over explosives meant to be used to kill the Mohra demons living nearby.

Wallace Green. He could have been useful now – but he was nowhere to be seen. Supposedly he had died in the explosion with the rest.

"Sir, excuse me, sir," he heard a woman's voice behind him. He stopped and turned around.

"What is it, Lydia?" he asked the woman who was sitting in front of a computer.

"He has deleted records," she began in a small voice. "Everything we have on the ex Watchers in America, everything on the imprisoned Slayer, it's gone." Roger frowned.

"Don't worry, Lydia," he said, his voice reflecting nothing of the worry he felt. He knew he couldn't be completely honest anymore, when he told his colleagues that Angelus was no danger whatsoever to them. He turned around and headed back into the main hall where everyone was gathering.

"Our special team is wiped out and he's managed to kill two of our most important members without even being spotted. Sir, this is serious," Phillip said silently, trying to avoid everyone hearing the concern in his voice.

"It's alright, Phillip. Angelus has proven to be a more formidable opponent than we anticipated, yes, but we are still masters of our own fates," Roger said in a voice he hoped was convincing. It didn't seem to sooth Philippe, or anyone else listening though, but he nodded and walked off.

"Yes sir."

"Ladies and gentlemen," Roger began, motioning for everyone to take a seat and calm down. The loud murmur quieted down within a few moments, and Roger continued.

"The turned Slayer died last night. As we feared, this has left Angelus in something of a volatile state of mind. This is however not unexpected, and it gives us a great opening to take him out. He is upset, which means that he will act rashly. This is our chance to act and strike back." The murmur started up again, and Lydia spoke directly to Roger.

"Sir, our Special Operations team has been terminated. How are we supposed to do anything without them?" He smiled a little.

"The Council hasn't always had a Special Operations team. In the old days, we Watchers did things on our own. There is no reason as to why we can't do that now." Lydia nodded, obviously not happy about the reply.

Roger frowned. The younger members of the Council were weaklings. They had never been out there by themselves, never fought on their own. Most of them would faint if they were told stories of what young Watchers had to do to become respected members in the Council only 30, 40 years ago. Like that time in Vienna, 1963, when Roger himself and a few of his colleagues, two of which were young Watchers fresh from the academy, had fallen upon William the Bloody - the grandchilde of Angelus, while he was slaughtering an orphanage. The two youngsters had been killed - as would any of these if put in the same situation.

Few of them had ever handled a Slayer on their own. He could remember the rare pride he had felt for his son when he was chosen as the Watcher of Buffy Summers and the willful Faith, whose first Watcher had been killed by the vampire Kakistos.

But of course, Wesley had failed. As usual. There had been talking within the Council. When Wesley began working with Angelus is Los Angeles it had even been suggested that perhaps Roger shouldn't get to keep his high position. It wasn't appropriate for the father of such a failure to be one of the highest ranked in their operation. Luckily the board had voted and found that there wasn't much he could have done to stop Wesley from acting the way he did.

"But sir, how are we supposed to kill Angelus?" Roger shook his head.

"We are Watchers – born and raised for this. The entire Council of Watcher's against one vampire? Together we can beat him. Now, begin preparations for mobilization. Once we're accounted for, I want to be ready to move."

He got up from his seat, gazing out over all the people gathered in the large room. Everyone had been called in, and everyone seemed to have shown up. Angelus was outnumbered and outsmarted – this battle might be over even quicker than he had estimated.

"Friends, colleagues," he said. "There is no reason for worry." Roger smiled reassuringly. "Remember; proverbs 24:6; in a multitude of counselors, there is safety."


	11. THAT ANGEL DOESN'T LIVE HERE ANYMORE

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**CHAPTER 11: THAT ANGEL DOESN'T LIVE HERE ANYMORE**

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The sun was shining outside. As always. Well, almost always, that was. Where Cordelia sat in front of her computer, staring out a window – a window that wasn't covered for once, now that no one with a healthy fear of sunburn was home, she found herself reminiscing. She thought about Buffy. Angel. Christmas. Cold. Her life. Continuous headaches.

Exactly two years ago, it had snowed in Sunnydale. Christmas Day. She remembered it.

Well, she didn't _remember_ it, the snowfall. She had been in Aspen skiing at the time. It was funny, really. She couldn't remember much from that trip, or any other meaningless vacations she had been on with her parents during those years in High School, but she did remember every detail of what had happened during her time with the Scooby gang. Granted, it might be because the vacations had been relatively relaxing and peaceful, while everything in Sunnydale had involved death, and pain, and demons, and blood, and corpses…

It was still only morning. A morning of joy for many people. Parents free from work. Kids sneaking downstairs, rejoicing over presents. Family. Togetherness.

Cordelia, Wesley and Gunn – part of a family in a way, even if Gunn would snort at the expression, were scattered over the lobby, waiting for something to happen. Waiting to hear something from Angel. Cordelia was worried. Yeah, she was actually worried about Angel. What if something had happened to him? What if the Council had gotten him, too? That would explain the not-calling-situation…

Next to the computer Cordelia had a rather large pile of paperwork she should attend to but didn't have enough focus to waste energy with at the moment. On a shelf just an arms length away from the computer the TV was on even if she didn't really look at it, and in her lap she had one of her standard issue worthless magazine's that she tried to read but couldn't concentrate on.

Every once in a while Wesley would walk back and fourth between Angel's office, the weapons cabinet and the bookshelves they had behind the counter. Cordelia wasn't sure if he actually did anything or if he just tried to seem busy as well. Maybe he was trying to form a triangular pattern between the three spots just by walking between them enough times.

Gunn sat on a couch in the lobby and pretended to read a book that Wesley had given him to pass the time with – as far as Cordelia could tell, he had been staring at the same page for over 40 minutes. Finally Cordelia sighed, put away the magazine and tried to concentrate at the file she took from the top of the pile when something on the TV caught her interest. She turned up the volume.

"…_close to Trafalgar Square exploded. We have casualty reports concerning around 30 people, and several has been brought to the hospital in critical condition. The police are examining the scene and can't say much at the moment, however forensics can already reveal that this wasn't an accident, explosives have been found…"_

Cordelia told herself that it was nothing – after all, London was a big city and just because a building had exploded didn't mean that Angel had been hurt, or was otherwise involved. Gunn got up from the couch and approached Cordelia. Wesley emerged from Angel's office when he heard the noises from the TV.

For a moment he stared at the screen, his face blank. Cordelia glanced at Wesley, trying to read his expression. Should she say something? Should she crack a tactless joke? For once Cordelia found herself speechless. She stared back at the screen.

"Dear God."

"Wesley, what is it?" Cordelia turned her head back to him.

"Dear God," he said again.

"He's not here, you'll have to talk to me instead. WHAT IS IT?" Cordelia felt the panic grow.

"That building… it's the Watcher's Council's headquarters."

"Are you sure? I mean, couldn't it just be another building like it… London's a big city, right?"

Wesley slowly shook his head.

"No… No, that's it."

Good lord, he had spent time there since he was a little boy, every day after he graduated from the Academy. He wouldn't forget that place – ever. Not even after it had been reduced to ruins and a huge, smoking pile of ashes, burning wood and stone...

Gunn just shook his head without saying anything. What was there to say? What did all of this mean? They didn't know. They could speculate – even if they didn't much care to, considering the possible alternatives, but they didn't _know_.

Before they had time to expand on the subject, the phone rang. Wesley who was closest to it answered.

"Hello?" In any normal case Cordelia would have yelled at him for answering the business phone with a simple 'hello', but now she didn't even hear it.

"Giles, hello. Yes, we're looking at the TV now… No, we haven't heard from Angel since… since he called and wanted our help, I'm afraid we're as clueless as you about what may have happened over there. Come here? How do you think that will help?" Wesley looked at Cordelia for advice. She shook her head decidedly.

"No, I don't think that's a very good idea... right now. But Sunnydale isn't far away, we'll call if we need your help when Angel gets back…What? That's a bit harsh, don't you think? No, I don't know what has happened, but I'm sure THAT'S not happened. Good bye." Wesley hung up.

"What did he say?" Cordelia asked even if she already had a fair idea.

"He… thought that he and the others should come here in case… in case something bad has happened to Angel."

"Something... bad?"

"Well, he... he suggested that 'something' might have happened to his soul and said that we would need their help if it's Angelus coming back instead of Angel."

"So Giles thinks Angel blew up the Council's head quarters?"

"Yes, that's my interpretation." Cordelia was silent for a moment.

"Do _you_ think he's lost his soul?" Wesley swallowed. Yes, it was the obvious question. Not a very pleasant question, but still. The alternative, if Angel really was the one to destroy the Council might be even less appealing. That would mean that Angel, _their _Angel – soul intact, was capable of murdering perhaps fifty or so people in total without giving it much thought.

"I-I can't imagine how," he said finally. "I suppose we won't know until he's back. Of course, if he's… if he's blown up their offices, he's prone to be in a…uhm, bad mood, soul or not, so we're going to need some help... Gunn, are you available to stay here until Angel comes back?"

Gunn looked uncomfortable. Yes, he had accepted that the supposedly good-guy vampire had a dark side, a very, very dark side – but that wasn't Angel. An idiot could see the difference between Angel and Angelus, they were two different personalities sharing a body. Or at least that was what he had thought. But if Angel was capable of doing this – maybe the difference wasn't as big as they all wanted and hoped for it to be.

"Yeah… sure," he said. Wesley nodded shortly, turning his attention to the shelves in the counter where he looked for something. He put a pair of heavy chains, a crossbow and a tranquilizer gun on the countertop.

"Of course this is just precautionary," he said somewhat absently. "I don't think that he's…" he interrupted himself. "It's good to be prepared, for everything."

* * *

Giles stared at the screen.

"Good lord," he uttered. Well, it was all that needed to be said, really.

Being Christmas Day, the Magic Box was closed today. Any ordinary day, Giles would have spent his day in quiet for once – enjoying a break from the demanding work at the shop, alone in his apartment. But this wasn't an ordinary day.

This was the day after Buffy's death.

Well, at least it should be. They weren't completely certain of course, since they hadn't heard anything from Los Angeles – which probably meant that L.A. hadn't heard anything from Angel either. And in this case, they highly doubted that no news was good news. Especially now.

Especially now that the Council had been obliterated, reduced to smoking ruins on the street where Giles had known it to be his entire life. He could still remember the first time his father had brought him to that place. He had been ten years old, just a young boy, and his grandmother – who had been a Watcher as well – had just passed away.

His father had brought him to the Council, shown him around the place without as much as a word for explanation – and then he had sat him down in the main hall, completely empty at the time, he could still remember the echo of his fathers voice as he gave him a very long, very tiresome, speech about responsibility and sacrifice. How he had been forced to give certain things up as a part of his destiny, but how it had given him so very much back in the end.

Two years later he had been killed in the line of duty. It was ironic, really. His father had died for the Council, and Buffy had been killed by them.

And now the entire Council was just gone. Vanished. He swallowed. And all people who were inside at the time too, one assumed.

"Is it…?" Xander began, afraid of getting an answer. Giles flinched slightly at the sudden sound, and looked at the kids. Xander was looking demandingly, worriedly, at him, holding an arm unconsciously around Anya's shoulders. The look on Willow's face was devastated – and still somewhat glum, somewhat sulking.

They had managed to talk her out of the insane idea to try and cure Buffy via the same ritual that Spike used to cure Drusilla. Spike had, after snapping out of the shocked trance he had obviously disappeared into when they told him everything Buffy and Angel, and the Council, told her that the ritual was only for curing weak, badly injured vampires and those who had been exposed to mystical illnesses of some kind – not poison.

In any usual case that would have been the point where Spike made a crack about trying anyway, after all it was only Angel's life on the line, but he didn't. Instead he had stared at them all for a minute, unsure what to say, before muttering something incoherent and disappearing out back into the rain.

And of course that would be where Xander would usually joke about Spike's feelings for Buffy being stronger than he would let on, but he didn't either. What was going down in England smothered them, their emotions, like a heavy pillow held down over their faces.

"Yes," Giles whispered. "It is the Council's headquarters."

Xander swallowed. "What do you think… happened there?"

"Am I missing something here? Isn't it obvious what happened there?" Anya asked.

"_What_, yeah," Xander agreed, looking back at Giles. "But who did it?"

"We can't know anything for certain," Giles began, mumbling.

"But?" Xander demanded.

"But… I fear that this happening so shortly after Buffy… After Buffy's… I fear it isn't a coincidence." Xander swallowed hard.

"Do you think… Angel's… lost it?" It was the first alternative to pop up in Xander's brain. Not a very logical one, as going after and destroying the Council didn't really fit his profile, but it was still his first thought. And the other alternative, if Angel really was the one that did it wasn't exactly much nicer. Would the _good_ Angel be capable of murdering… however many the reporter on the news said, just like that?

"If-if Buffy…" Giles faltered. "I'm afraid he might very well be the assailant, yes."

"But how would he have lost his soul this time, then?" Anya asked, clearheaded as always. "Do you think they had happy sex just before she died?" At that point even Xander wanted to stick a sock in her mouth. He looked down, and Willow frowned.

"No," Giles said firmly. "There are other possibilities. Angel doesn't necessarily have to be without his soul to be the perpetrator of this crime."

"Do you really think that Angel would murder over thirty people without being bad?" Willow asked in a small voice, speaking for the first time in a long while.

Giles hesitated before he answered. The possibility of Angelus was bad enough – but the thought that Angel with his soul intact would be capable of doing this… doing things that definitely had "Angelus-bad" stamped all over it… It was something none of them wanted to imagine.

"Bad and soulless aren't the same thing, Willow," he said finally, trying to reason. Trying to understand. He knew what he felt himself – the stirring anger, the blinding rage when he thought about the torment the Council had put Buffy through. Of course, Angel felt just the same. The difference was that Angel had the opportunity, and the resources needed to actually do something about it.

"Yes…" he continued. "I do think that Angel would kill for Buffy if he felt that he needed to. Even with a soul he can be tempted to succumb to the dark side." He fell silent. Xander frowned, looking demandingly at him.

"But what if that's not it? Are we just gonna sit around here, waiting for a call from Wes or Cordy telling us that Angelus is back in town, ready to do some damage?" Giles looked at Xander. The boy would take any chance at blaming Angel for everything bad – but he was right. With everything that had happened, they couldn't afford to approach this all too calmly.

"Shouldn't we go there?" Anya asked. "I mean, Angel's friends came here when he was evil, and if he is again, maybe we should help them?"

"Perhaps," Giles sighed, feeling very tired. "I better call Wesley." He picked up the phone and dialed the number to the Hyperion Hotel. He looked at his watch. It was still morning, but they couldn't still be sleeping now, could they? Not with everything going on.

"Wesley? Hello, it's Giles. Have you seen the news? There is a report on right now that you should... Alright, good. We would, as you understand, really want to get information about Angel's whereabouts. Have you heard from him… about anything… at all, lately? No? Well, we have discussed the matter here and we think it would be best if we came to L.A. Well, because Angel might have lost his soul again, that's why! We have to assume the worst when something like this happens. I don't want anyone else to get hurt, and if Angelus was to be loose, we would need to organize ourselves to track him down in the most efficient way. What do you mean, harsh? Give it a rest man, I'm realistic! Then do YOU know what has happened? Of course you don't. Wesley? Hello? Damn it!"

Giles hung up. "He made very clear that they don't want our help in L.A."

"Really?" Xander said. "'Cause I thought that last 'damn it' was just your kind response to his invitation."

"This is bad. Right?" Willow looked at him. And once again, as so many times the last few months, Giles found himself unable to answer.

"Well, I… no reason to worry yet. I'm sure," he said, being anything but sure.

"You know what?" Xander spoke. "If they don't want our help, there's nothing we can do about it. If they want to have their funny-and-mayhem Angelus party all by their lonesome, that's fine by me."

* * *

The only sound that was heard in the dark night was the silent humming of the Plymouth's engine.

As soon as Angel was done in London he had gone straight to David Nabbit's airplane and ordered it back to L.A. Fortunately he had been precautious enough to take his car to the airport, when they left for England several days ago.

They. He, and Buffy.

He wasn't done. The Council was gone, but unfortunately, they weren't the only ones responsible for Buffy's murder. In fact when looking through the papers in Quentin Traver's briefcase, he had learned that the key role was actually played by someone else.

And 'someone else' was cooperating with some people he already knew very well.

Angel stopped his car outside the hotel. He could se the light's inside, so he guessed that Cordelia and Wesley were there. Maybe Gunn, too. He hadn't given it much thought how he was going to handle the reunion. Did they know what had happened in London? It was likely. A thing like that must have been all over the news.

Well, frankly he didn't much care either way. Maybe they knew exactly what had happened and were currently waiting inside, ready to stake him on sight. He should care about that. He should feel the need to go in there and convince them that he was still their friend. So why didn't he? The way Ange felt, it didn't matter if they killed him, or if he killed them. In the larger sense, it wouldn't make much of a difference.

They were only humans who, even if they weren't killed before that, would be dead in maybe 40, 50 years. If they against all odds considering their work, lived until they died of old age, maybe they would have time to get kids – a new generation that would eventually grow up, live meaningless lives, spawn yet another generation before they became worm-food as well.

What was the point, really? Nothing people do matter because there is no bigger scheme – no great reward, no fairytale ending. And still what they do is all that matters – because that's all there is.

That left Angel with the conclusion that nothing mattered. He had fought for so long – for evil, for good, for a reward, or just simply to beat the other guy, but how had he really affected the world? Sure, in the small sense – as Angelus he had eradicated many thousands of lives, and with his soul, he had probably helped a few people here and there, saved their lives. That was one way to look at hit.

From another point of view one might say that he had ended the eternal and worthless cycle of nothingness for some people, and helped some to postpone the inevitable end that all mortals face eventually.

He walked inside. At first, he didn't see anyone in the lobby, but soon Cordelia emerged from behind the counter at the sound of footsteps. Angel could hear her heartbeat speed up as soon as she saw him.

"Angel!" she exclaimed, sounding both relieved and worried. Normally she would probably run up to him and hug him against his will, but now she slowly got to her feet and paced nervously behind the counter.

"Angel…" she said again. "There you are. We've… um, we've been worried." Angel could see that she tried to keep one of her hands out of his sight – she probably held a weapon of some kind that she didn't want him to see.

So they knew, he thought. And by the way Cordelia acted, they didn't consider soullessness as out of the question. The notion of that, that they would assume that he had lost his soul just because he had decided to actually do something instead of turning the other cheek to the Council – which seemed to be the popular response – it made any will he might have had for staying on good terms with his so called supportive friends vanish instantly.

"Angel's here." Cordelia said loudly and soon Angel heard the clamping of more feet. Wesley came out from Angel's office and Gunn came around the corner from the basement. They moved somewhat stiffly, like animals approaching a possible enemy, ready to protect themselves.

"Angel, we're glad to see you. How… are you?" Wesley said, trying to keep the suspicion out of his voice. Gunn didn't even try to hide his, he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Angel. Wesley moved nervously to the side and tried to look Angel in the eyes.

Gunn scowled at him. "What the hell happened in London?" Angel went right past all three of them and in to his office. He sat down in his chair behind the desk. Cordelia, Gunn and Wesley soon followed him. All three of them sat down as well, probably acknowledging that they weren't in any immediate danger.

"I'll repeat Gunn's question," Cordelia said, sounding more forceful than before, now that she was at least almost certain that Angel wouldn't twist her head off or snap her spine in two. "What the hell happened in England? Did they try to blow you up or…?"

"I blew them up," Angel confirmed, staring into space. His low voice and empty, dark eyes scared all three of them, but they forced down the urge to just get up and back away slowly.

"How could you?" Wesley was the first one that spoke. "Do you understand the depth of your act? That explosion must have killed most of the people who were in the building…"

"All of them died," Angel said flatly. "Thirty in the explosion and eight at the hospital." Wesley stared at him, trying to find some explanation, _something_, in Angel's eyes. But there was nothing.

"But… why?"

For a moment they saw a sparkle in Angel's eyes, and not a very nice one.

"Why? They killed her. She was innocent, and still they passed judgment on her and made sure she had a painful, slow death. I did what I had to do."

"What you _had_…" Wesley faltered. "There were innocent people in that building, don't you understand that? Not only young watchers but secretaries, assistants…"

Angel didn't even react to Wesley's words. Gunn shook his head.

"You've lost the mission, man," he said. Angel shot him a glare.

"What I've _lost_ is not 'the mission'. Let's just say I'm doing things differently nowadays," he said darkly.

"What? Helping those in need's been replaced with hunting down the guilty?" Cordelia asked. Angel looked at her, or at least he turned his head her way. But he didn't look at her – his eyes were empty. Not soulless-empty – there was a big difference there – but it wasn't the Angel she used to know that sat there in front of them.

"Something like that," he said silently.

Wesley swallowed, trying to decide how to approach this, what to say to Angel. What was he supposed to say? 'So you decided to take bloody revenge through murdering dozens of people? You bad boy – now, let's go out and kill a demon together'? No. Something told Wesley that things wouldn't return to normal, to what they had been, in a very long time. If ever.

"Angel, listen to us!" Cordelia called out, her voice slightly louder, slightly more high-pitched than usual, revealing how upset she was. How worried she was about Angel.

"Yes, Angel," Wesley said. "You may see it as... as _justice_, but what you did… it was wrong."

"You took things too far," Gunn agreed. They were pretty sure they could hear Angel sigh.

"We've all been worried about you since before you left for England, and I guess it's fair to say we all share a little of the blame," Wesley tried to reason, "we should have insisted on coming with you, all of us. Maybe we could have prevented what happened there. I know I speak for all of us when I say that what happened with Buffy was… a terrible loss to say in the least. We're very sorry and of course, we'll be here for you. But this, this is madness."

"What do you know?" Angel snorted, shooting Wesley a vicious glare.

"Angel, I understand how you feel…"

"You understand?" He got up from his seat, pushing his chair back hard against the wall, making them all jump visibly. "You think you understand? You _understand_ nothing. None of you, you weren't there. You didn't feel her die."

Wesley looked down. He knew Angel was right, at least about him. He had never lost anyone nearly as close to him as Buffy was to Angel. He couldn't understand what he was going through.

"I understand," Gunn reminded him. "Remember my sister?" Angel stared at him blankly.

"My sister… Alonna. She was killed, sired. And I had to finish it. I slipped up, and she paid with her life. So don't you dare coming here telling me that I don't understand." Angel didn't flinch, he didn't move his gaze, he didn't say anything. The emptiness, the darkness in those eyes… it was something new that they hadn't seen before. Indifferent. Defeated.

"What are you going to do now?" Wesley asked, knowing that even if he got an answer, he wouldn't be able to do anything to stop Angel from whatever he was planning next.

"Found some interesting files in the Quentin Travers' briefcase," Angel said tonelessly. "Seems they're connected to Wolfram & Hart. Color me surprised." The trio stared at him for a second, hoping that the thing that instantly popped into their heads _wasn't_ what Angel was planning.

"So you're – what?" Going after Wolfram & Hart next?" Angel didn't answer, but his expression was enough of a reply.

"No, Angel – no! Don't you see where this is gonna end up?" Cordelia shook her head and looked at Wesley and Gunn. "I don't know about you two, but I'm not joining in on this insane-vengeance-parade. I'm _not_." Gunn and Wesley agreed silently, and Angel turned to them.

"You don't have to," he said, his voice calm and steady. "None of you do." Gunn frowned, and for a moment Wesley thought that the battle was won. That they had managed to talk sense into him. He was just about to exhale a sigh of relief when Angel spoke again.

"You're all fired."


	12. ANNUS HORRIBILIS

**

* * *

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**CHAPTER 12: ANNUS HORRIBILIS**

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* * *

**

"That's just great." Cordelia stomped angrily down the street, not exactly sure where she was heading. Home, maybe – but it was too far to walk. Gunn and Wesley followed her – not really sure where they were going either. Gunn's truck was still parked outside the hotel, and he knew he should go and get it, but whenever he considered turning and walking back to do that, Cordelia spoke angrily again.

"Buffy lives – Angel's happy. Buffy gets hurt, Angel gets away with behaving like an ass. Buffy dies – Angel goes _insane_. And we just stood there and, and took it!"

"Cordelia…" Wesley began.

"I mean it! Now he's going up against Wolfram & Hart, a very sure way to get himself killed if you ask me, and he fired us? He just – fired us!"

"So we noticed," Gunn cut in.

"How could he! I mean, Buffy gets herself killed. Boo hoo! Not the first time, by the way. Just because of that he thinks that he can blow up half of London, and fire us?"

"Cordelia, don't be so tactless," Wesley scolded calmly. Cordelia stopped and spun around, facing Wes and Gunn.

"I'm not tactless! I just thought… I mean, I'm just…"

"Disappointed?" he answered for her, and she nodded silently.

"I mean," she went on, "I realized he was gonna be freaked, but I thought he'd want our support. Not, you know…"

"Throw us out?"

"Yeah."

The three of them were silent for a moment. What were they supposed to do know? Most of their lives had revolved around Angel and Buffy for the past… well, months really. Now Buffy was dead, and Angel had gone completely insane. Should they accept it and go on with their own lives, or should they stop and try to help Angel against his will?

"What are we going to do?" Cordelia asked, sighing.

"Eat?" Gunn suggested, trying to make light of the depressing question. Cordelia and Wesley looked strangely at him.

"What?" he asked.

"No, no…" Wesley frowned slightly. "By all means, if you're hungry."

"Look, I'm just saying. Angel turned his back on us, and on his mission. But does that have to mean that we bury ourselves in his despair?" Gunn shook his head. "Uh-uh. I'm sorry for Buffy, really I am, but it doesn't justify what he's doing now." Cordelia nodded, agreeing.

"You know, I think you're right. And what do we need him for, anyway? If he wants so shut us out and lock himself in his world of brooding, then good riddance to him." She paused, considering if her voice gave away that she was trying to convince herself as much as Wesley and Gunn. It probably did.

"Certainly," Wesley continued. "I mean, we're all young, competent demon hunters…"

"Ha, ha," Gunn interrupted, laughing heartily. Cordelia joined in for a second, before a familiar feeling of nausea and pain washed over her. Wesley looked at Gunn, confused.

"Something amusing you, Charles?" Gunn said something in reply, but Cordelia couldn't hear it. She had to slow down when her legs started shaking and it felt like someone had forced a helmet that was much too small on her head. The world flickered before her eyes and it felt like her skull would explode at any second.

"Guys… wait, could you just. Wait." Cordelia gave up the meaningless struggle to stay on her feet, and collapsed to her knees. "Aaah!" she cried as the vision hit her with full force, and only her willpower kept her from letting the stabbing pain pull her into unconsciousness. Wesley turned instantly at the familiar sound.

"Cordy!" he and Gunn both ran to her side, steadying her through her vision.

"Cordy… Cordelia, what do you see?" he asked softly as the spastic ripples through her body eased off and she calmed down, her panting and whimpering being the only thing showing them that she had just had a vision.

And the crying.

Wesley and Gunn looked at each other in worry and confusion as Cordelia sobbed quietly, her trembling hands gripping her temples in agony. They had no idea what to do. How could they? They didn't know how the visions affected her, what they did to her – mentally and physically.

"It's a girl," Cordelia gasped, struggling to keep her voice steady. "She, she's… ooh, there is a demon. She's bleeding… and so afraid."

"What kind of demon?" Wesley asked.

"I don't know… big… ugly, green. Long teeth… maybe three inches." Wesley nodded silently. Not the most thorough description, but something told him not to push her.

"Where?"

"An alley. Not far from here." Cordelia looked up at Wesley for the first time and hoped that she didn't look as horrible as she felt. Well, if she did, at least he didn't seem to care, or notice.

"Can you write down the address?" Wesley handed her a small notepad and a pencil – always trust Wesley to carry around office supplies, she thought bitterly as she gripped the pen and tried to hold the notepad still. She had to put it down on her thigh to be able to write on it. Wesley shot her a worried glance when she was concentrated on forming the words on the paper.

Something was seriously wrong; he had seen it the last time she had a vision as well, but she wouldn't tell him. He wanted her to. He wanted her to trust him and tell him so he could help, or at least_ try_ and help her. But right now they had something else to think about.

Wesley found himself staring back in the direction of the hotel.

"Should we…?" He looked at Gunn who gave him a stern glance as a response.

"You really think that's a good idea?"

Wesley considered it for a moment. The way he saw it – either a thing like this might be just what Angel needed them to present him with, to pull himself back from the brink… or perhaps he was already too far gone, and would use a violent approach to drive them away the second time. He nodded decidedly.

"You're right. Angel's turned his back on the mission. We're not going to. Gunn, go get your truck. We're driving Cordelia home." Gunn stared at him.

"And after that?"

"After that, Angel Investigations has a job to do."

* * *

"How could that happen?" 

It was a few days after Christmas – one of those holidays that Wolfram & Hart unsurprisingly didn't care about.

"Use your head Lilah. Powerful explosives, light the fuse; the Watcher's Council is vaporized," Lindsay said.

Things hadn't worked out exactly the way they had planned. Well, they had – and they hadn't. It wasn't even unexpected, the plan had been everything but waterproof. It involved too many people and pesky emotions to predict the outcome with any certainty.

As soon as they had met with the Council and "established contact for future co-operation" they had begun searching for a candidate among them suitable for carrying out their plan. They had found him sooner than expected – a member of the Special Operations team.

He was the perfect profile. He had faced Angel before and held a grudge against him for that time, he had shown willingness for betraying the Council before, and he wanted out. Wanted a change of scenery. He had given in pathetically easily when they made the proposal; shoot and kill Buffy Summers, and in exchange you will have the foot in the door at our company.

Right now they were housing the little uncivilized weasel in one of Wolfram & Harts apartments. Green himself thought that the apartment was the first of many fine benefits that awaited him as a welcomed employee at the firm.

Of course, what he didn't know what that was his role in this wasn't close to "welcomed member". No, he was bait. Purely bait. And, well, safety-net. When Angel came after them, and they were most sure that he would, he would get Green first.

"I know how he did it," Lilah hissed, "but why? I thought he had some cub-scout code telling him only to kill in self-defense or whatever?" Lindsay laughed bitterly.

"Well, apparently he made an exception." He frowned. "Or fifty."

"What's to say that he doesn't make another exception when he finds out who's behind all this?" Lindsay looked at Lilah, shrugging.

"Nothing, I guess." Lilah was silent for a moment and everything that was heard in the empty hall was the sound of Lilah's high heels drumming against the floor for every step she took.

"Do you think we're safe?" she asked finally, well aware that Lindsay was the one of them that had most experience with Angel.

"No one is safe when he's in a bad mood," Lindsay snorted, unconsciously waving his plastic hand slightly. "I think the question is more like, how far will Wallace Green splatter when Angel finds out he's here."

"How can you be so calm about this? It's not only Angel we have to worry about, what do you think the Senior Partners would do if they found out we've made a deal with an outside assassin without even clearing it with someone?"

"Relax. If the Senior Partners wants to kill someone, they will no matter what. Besides, they won't kill the both of us now that Holland Manners is gone, so at least you got a 50-50 chance." Lilah was quiet for a moment. A 50 percent chance wasn't what she would call good odds, but she didn't want to look like a wimp by nagging about it.

"Besides," Lindsay continued. "Green isn't an outside assassin. He's a tool, used to bring Angel closer, to his dark side. That's our orders, and if you ask me, I think we've done a bang-up job so far."

"Yeah, sure," Lilah agreed silently. "But what I don't understand is how all this is going to bring forth Angelus. That's done through happiness, not vengeful depression and murderous tendencies, right?" Lindsay smiled to himself.

"Think two steps ahead Lilah, as always. Think consequences. And consequences to the consequences." Lilah stared at Lindsay.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You'll see."

* * *

Angel walked slowly through his and Buffy's room. Well – it was his room, technically, or had been so at first. But even if Buffy had only lived with him there for a few weeks, it would forever feel like their room, and not only his. He sat down on the bed. 

He could still feel her scent as strong as ever. On of her sweaters, the light one – the same on he had seen on the other Buffy in England, still lay on the bed.

Maybe he should switch rooms. It wasn't like there wasn't enough to go around, and everything in here reminded him of her.

He moved to her side of the bed and studied the photographs on her nightstand. Photos of Buffy herself, her mother and sister. She had brought them from home. One of the frames was burnt – that one had been rescued from the wreckage that was 1630 Revello Drive.

That one portrayed all three of them – Buffy, Joyce and Dawn. Dawn looked so young, and Buffy looked so tired. He released the picture from its frame and looked at the back of it. It was dated in February 1998. Angel's eyes darkened. Well, no question why Buffy looked so worn, then. It was taken right in the middle of his first killing spree.

If was funny really. Buffy was the only woman he had truly loved in his very long life, and at the same time, she was one of the people he had done the most damage to.

Beginning when she was only 17, over three years he had killed her teacher, a few of her classmates, a few of her friends, her boyfriend – and her family. He had broken her completely, and killed her. Put her through the living nightmare of being undead. And if that wasn't enough, he had made sure the last day in her life was filled with horrible agony and suffering. And that last part, he couldn't even blame on the so called "evil alter ego":

Angel violently threw the frame to the side and the glass shattered. It didn't matter if he had a soul or not. Soul or no soul, Angel or Angelus, good or evil, it didn't matter – everything he touched still turned to ashes. More or less literary. He couldn't keep a friend, he had destroyed the only person he ha ever loved, and it was still the solitude and the evil that made him feel at most himself.

That wasn't completely true, when he had Buffy and his agency, he had felt more human and part of the world than ever… but he didn't have any of those things anymore.

He had effectively turned his back on the only people left that might still consider him friends, and all that was left was himself and all his nagging, burning emotions. Like so many times before. He had lived more than a century alone, trying to escape himself.

It would be easier to just let go again, stop caring, stop hurting, stop feeling. But of course, he couldn't even do that. Would he ever get the chance to escape from the humanity again?

* * *

Lilah walked towards her car in the underground parking lot. She wasn't really comfortable with parking there now that Angel was… well, maybe not evil, but the question was definitely one to debate. It wasn't much she could do about it, though. The work at Wolfram & Hart required long, often nightly, hours, and the workload hadn't exactly lessened since she and Lindsay got put in charge over the Special Projects division, after Holland Manners death. 

She froze. A sound. Was there someone there, hiding in the shadows? She stood silently, listening for a few moments. She couldn't hear anything. Still. She might better get home to her own apartment – strictly un-invited for certain creatures.

She got in her car and adjusted the mirrors. For some reason she had a chilling feeling… and the reason to it became very clear when she turned around to back her car.

"Oh! Angel."

"Hello, Lilah," he said in a neutral voice. She met his gaze. She didn't know what she had expected. Bloodshot eyes, bared fangs, beard-stubble? Hair less than completely gel-moistened? Well, he looked just like always – pale, calm, overly groomed. Just like usual.

Except for the eyes. That was different. While Lilah had seen Angel in some pretty fierce situations – the demon-gladiator ring for instance, and that time when he fought and killed Vocah, she had never seen a gaze like this from him. It was cold and indifferent, and yet it wasn't. Something in those eyes told her that Angel wasn't playing by the old rules anymore.

And that wasn't a terribly comforting notion at all.

"W-what do you want?" She cursed inwardly for not managing to keep her voice completely steady, something that Angel noticed. He turned the corner of his mouth into a slight smirk.

"You'll never believe what I found in Quentin Traver's briefcase," Angel said calmly, talking to her as if they were old friends. She frowned. He didn't even look at her. Should she run? Try to call for security?

"Who? What do you mean?" she asked, trying to buy a little time.

"Lilah, don't play stupid. Doesn't suit you. You know, your little cooperation with the Council?"

"Oh," she said dryly. "That."

"Mmm. And, you know the interesting part? One would think that maybe you and your new partners planned this killing-Buffy thing together, but the thing is; the Council knows… excuse me, _knew_, nothing about it."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. But there is one Council-guy left, isn't there? I have a hunch that there is."

Lilah swallowed, knowing that she would probably do best not to answer. Whatever she said, he would knew that she lied.

"They must be proud of you and your tiny-Texan-partner at the company. I just wanted to inform you that I have observed your work too."

Lilah started moving around in her seat, uncomfortable with Angel's cool voice. The death of that girl must have really driven him over the edge.

"You deserve all credit you can get from them, I really think. And besides, considering what I've been up to the last few months… who I've killed, what opportunities I've given you to prove color… well, it makes me feel like, maybe, in a small way, I helped to make it happen for you."

Lilah turned around to face him.

"Angel, I can assure you, now that Lindsay and I are in a position to affect policy, things will change."

"You're very right they will change," he said darkly, and Lilah felt a chill run down her spine. But she refused to show him her fear.

"That's what's fun about choices," Angel mused. "The ones we make and the ones we don't… oh, and the consequences." He waited until she looked at him again. "Those are always fun. I honestly hope that it's gonna be as good for you as it has been for me. Really."

"Angel, please…"

"No, no." He smiled a small, joyless smile. "We haven't even gotten close to the begging-part yet." She glanced at him. She knew she had a cross in her purse – her purse which she had put on the passenger seat.

Would she have time to get the purse and pick up the cross before he reacted? He was sitting right behind her – if he wanted to, he could reach the seat adjustment lever, push the seat forward and crush her against the steering wheel.

And, to be honest, he hadn't done anything at all that threatened her physically. Maybe he just wanted to scare her. She frowned to herself. And he was doing a good job. She found herself getting angry, both at herself and the creep sitting in her backseat.

"That's scary, really," she said in a dry voice, turning on the evil-bitch mode, letting her anger overshadow her fear. "Stick around and we'll see who's gonna be begging." He chuckled a little.

"Feisty," he said. "And yet so afraid that I'm gonna kill you right on the spot. Gotta love that in a woman." She glared at him, anger glistering in her eyes.

"Oh, and Lilah?" he whispered. "Happy new year."

The next moment, he was gone. Lilah sighed in relief and realized that she was shaking from fear, excitement and anger, all at once. Ridiculous. There were no records of Angel killing humans without a good reason when he had his soul – except for the Council people – so what did she have to worry about?

Still, what he had said proved that he was hot on their heels. Sooner or later, and that probably being sooner considering the grieving-crazy-stalking-limbo he seemed to exist in, he would figure things out in full. She should place a security team at Wallace Green's apartment, to notify her as soon as he made an appearance.

* * *

_A/N: The title of this chapter "annus horribilis" is Latin and means - "a horrible year". _


	13. SANCTUARIES

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**CHAPTER 13: SANCTUARIES**

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It had been two weeks.

Two weeks since Angel kicked them out. Two weeks since she had a vision. Two weeks since she last saw Gunn and Wesley.

Well, they had talked on the phone a few times. First when Wesley had called to tell her that he and Gunn had managed to save the girl and kill the demon from her vision, and then just a few times to check up on her.

He had suggested that maybe, if they wanted to keep Angel Investigations open, they should have their own offices. Cordelia had then reminded him that they had no money whatsoever to pay for such a thing. Rent-controlled apartment aside, she was already struggling to pay her bills. If she, and surely Wesley too, wanted to keep eating solid food, they would have to bring in new clients. As in now.

Wesley had gone all hearty-type on her and said that gone is gone, and there is no use wallowing. No matter how discouraged they felt after Angel, they would have to try and go on with their own lives.

Cordelia was angry. And bitter. And hurt. She couldn't get over the fact that Angel, the person she had considered her closest friends for over a year now, had just turned his back on her and put her on the street when things didn't go his way anymore. No one had heard from him since that night – hadn't seen him, hadn't heard anything about what he had been up to. There was nothing.

Either way, she could figure what he was doing – heading head over heels into some kind of trouble, as usual. Stubborn crazy vampire. But she didn't care. It was his choice to cut himself off – if he wanted to do everything by himself, then he was more than welcome to do so. No skin off her nose for that. No, she didn't care.

Really, she didn't.

Or at least so she tried to convince herself.

When the phone rang Cordelia got up from her bed slowly, thanking Dennis silently for remembering to cover all windows with curtains before she got up to avoid bright morning light to hit her and awake her headache with a start. She chased after the receiver to the phone – where the hell had she put it – and answered.

"Hello?" she panted.

"Yo. Gunn."

"Why are you calling me at…" she searched the room for a functioning clock, "9 AM?" Okay. Maybe it wasn't as early as it had felt.

"Working day?" Gunn suggested. "One of those days when you… work?"

"Oh, right, of course. Unemployed, remember?" she snapped. "Dismissed? Shown the door? Booted?"

"Didn't Wesley talk to you?" Cordelia could hear the sound of an engine; Gunn was probably driving and talking on the phone simultaneously, as usual. "Aren't we gonna keep the business open?"

"That's the general idea," Cordelia said tiredly.

"So anyway, I was just calling to hear if you've had any visions lately," he continued. Cordelia frowned.

"Um – no. If I had, don't you think I would have, oh say, called?"

"Guess so. Well, too bad."

'Too bad?' Cordelia thought, snorting.

"Yeah, I'm very sad about the fact that I haven't had my skull split open and hollowed out for two weeks now! Really missing it!"

"Hey, chill, right? I'm just saying – if you don't have any visions, where do we get the work from? Where did Angel get his work from?"

"Could we please not mention that name?" Cordelia muttered, avoiding answering the important question. Yeah, either she would walk around feeling like her head had been smashed to pieces and glued back together again, or she would go without work – and food. Both options were equally thrilling.

Still, she couldn't force a vision even if she wanted to. It didn't work that way.

She was lost. They were all lost. It was pathetic, really – they were grownups, hadn't they had lives before Angel? Cordelia pondered that for a moment. Wesley had spent all his time sucking up to the Council. Gunn had been in a demon-fighting gang living on the street, getting picked off and killed one by one. And she had come straight from High School and managed on her own for just a few months, and not very well by the way, before she met Angel again in L.A.

Nope. Not much in the way of own lives then. So the question was; to who should a lost soul that needed guidance and support turn to? Cordelia froze and smiled a little. Of course.

"You know what, Gunn? We'll talk later." She hung up the phone.

Now, there was an idea.

* * *

"Fee? There is a fee?" Wesley swallowed. He had been here before – he should have known that. Then again, he had never been here to perform himself, of course, only as a worthy observer. Those were the days. Unfortunately, "worthy" was in something of a short supply nowadays. 

"Yeah," the man behind the counter said. "But it's still Happy Hour; two drinks, one song, no waiting."

"Ah. Of course." Wesley grimaced as he scraped together what was left in his wallet and gave it to the smiling bartender.

"Thank you for visiting Caritas. What can I serve you tonight?"

"Whiskey," Wesley muttered. "Straight." The bartender nodded.

Another day, another time, he might have ordered a Bloody Mary, his favorite drink. But today wasn't one of those days. He was out of money. No matter what he told himself, he was out of a job. He, Cordelia and Gunn didn't have the means necessary to continue with the firm no matter what they wanted. Just to brighten his day even further, he had been on the phone with his mother for over an hour – now, how would that come out on the phone bill?

It had taken time, but they had finally been able to identify his father as one of the casualties of the explosion. His mother was devastated of course, and Wesley was ashamed about the fact that he couldn't even bring himself to feel bad for her.

All those years his father had pushed him around and tormented him, she had only watched, ignored, looked the other way. If it was because she had agreed with her husband on some level, or if she was too afraid of him to protect her son, he would never know. But it didn't matter. He couldn't ever forgive her for all those years, for never doing or saying _anything_.

He remembered one time, when his father had been displeased with him for some reason and locked him under the stairs for hours. He couldn't have been more than eight or nine years at the time, and he didn't even remember what his father had been so angry about… but he remembered his mother. How he had heard her cry, and when he had peeked out through a small chink in the door, he had seen her sit in the kitchen with a hanky in hand, ready to wipe her tears before his father came back. But why hadn't she let him out, stood up for her son?

But still, despite everything, he loved his mum. He couldn't forgive and forget, but he cared about her. And not being able to feel for her just gave him yet another thing to feel bad about.

He sipped his whiskey. So here he was, ready to sing karaoke, _sing karaoke_, to get advice from a psychic demon. He glanced at Lorne who seemed to be his usual flashy, loud character. He was pretty sure he hadn't seen him yet, but sooner or later, he would – obviously.

"Wesley?" The sharp voice interrupted his thoughts. He turned around slowly, even though he really didn't need to; he already knew who it was.

"Cordelia," he acknowledged. She frowned.

"What are you doing here? Mr. Positive-let's-get-our-own-office-and-lead-our-own-lives?" Wesley grimaced.

"I believe Mr. Positive is recently deceased." Cordelia nodded, slipping into the chair next to him.

"Yeah? How did that happen?"

"Well, either he starved to death, or he was smothered with the delightful knowledge that he would become homeless in a few months," Wesley sighed, fingering his glass.

"Same here." Cordelia looked at his whiskey.

"So you decided to come here and… drown the sorrows?"

"Unfortunately I don't think I can afford anything beyond a slight moistening of the sorrows."

"Hmm."

"And I think the drinks will have to be considerably bigger for me to actually go up there, and…"

"Sing?" Cordelia finished, smirking. Wesley shrugged.

"What are you doing here yourself, then, if I may ask?" Cordelia looked away.

"Well, I, I…" she faltered. "I figured I'd take you up on that advice – move on and lead your own life, or whatever it was you said. I mean, we haven't heard anything from… and how long can we really just sit on our respective ass-i and wait for him?"

"Quite right. Still, I must admit I'm somewhat embarrassed."

"Then how do you think I feel?" They heard a familiar voice behind them. They both turned to greet him.

"Gunn," Cordelia said. "What happened to 'working day – a day when you work'?"

"Working day's over," Gunn sighed. "As of now, I am officially giving up." They all kept quiet for a few minutes, until Lorne came up to them, effectively ruining their depressed silence.

"Well, hello there! What brings you happy kids here?" They stared blankly at him, and their gloomy faces must have affected even him. He frowned and leant over the bar.

"Ramone, be a doll and bring these kids whatever they want tonight. On the house. Oh, and a seabreeze for me." He sat down, turning to them.

"Okay, not so much with the happy, then," he smiled. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong?"

* * *

Wallace Green switched on the TV, opened a new beer bottle and slumped into the couch, preparing for yet another uneventful evening. It had been weeks, and those lawyers just kept telling him to stay put, and soon they would bring him into the company. They just needed to find a suitable workplace for him. Well, that all sounded nice and proper. He just hoped that it would happen soon. 

On the other hand, he was pretty happy where he was. Within the Council he had never had any free time – during the days there had been meetings and office work and all night the Special Ops team had to be ready. Sometimes they had wet work or retrieving to attend to – sometimes they were even sent out to do simple slaying.

And now? He was having his own, at least temporary, luxurious flat with a view over the city that never slept. He had an inexhaustible supply of food and drink and a lot of mundane entertainment of a kind he had never had any time to waste energy with while working for the Council.

He flipped between the channels, sighing. American television. Nothing good on these days.

Wallace flipped of the TV and put his feet up on the couch. Now, this was living. He had said so for years, to the other slaves in the Council – there is something better out there. But of course they had wanted to be true to their so called honorable, meaningful employer. "The Council used to mean something," Weatherby used to say – before he was blown to pieces, that was. Well, that was just it. The Council had lost its power years ago – somewhere around the time where Slayers started living their own lives despite of their calling, Watchers started viewing their Slayers as daughters and friends, vampires and Slayers started dating…

Look at them now, the band of poofters. Reduced to something burnt beyond recognition.

No, it was safe to say that he was happy with having been given this opportunity to break free from the Council. The American lawyers had treated him great from the beginning. When they had approached him they had said that they had been observing him from a distance and found several qualities in his work that they would value within their company. The benefits seemed endless. Besides, the only condition on his part – kill Angelus' female. He couldn't quite understand why he hadn't gotten to shoot Angelus as well at the same time… but maybe he would get to do so later. Apparently this law firm had a bone to pick with him too.

Wallace smiled as he reminisced. He could live of Angelus' horrified expression when he had shot his mate forever. It was obvious that Angelus had wanted so badly to chase him down and rip him to pieces, but his soul made him care too much about the turned Slayer to leave her and he had taken her and fled the scene instead.

Of course one could think that he would have to worry about Angelus seeking revenge here instead – his own turf and all, but there was no need for that. The law firm had taken care of that as well, there was a safety team placed downstairs at all dark hours.

Wallace took a sip from his beer bottle and made a grimace. He could admit that there were actually a few American beers that were highly underrated. This, unfortunately, wasn't one of them. He sighed and got up from his position in the sofa. Well, he should have a few more beers in the fridge. As he turned around to get to the kitchen door, he gasped involuntarily. A tall, dark and grim looking figure stood, casually leaning against the doorframe, looking at him.

"Hello, Wallace," he said in a cold tone.

"Angelus." Wallace glared at him. "How did you get in here? You're not invited."

"No need for it," Angel said, strolling in to the room. "This counts as a public accommodation, you don't live here. I'm disappointed, really. Shouldn't the Council-elite know simple things like that?" He shrugged. "Oh, well." He stared at Wallace, waiting for him to say anything.

"What about the guards?" he spoke finally.

"They're… hmm, _napping_," Angel replied in a low voice.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Wallace glanced quickly at the crossbow leaning against the doorframe – but it was several feet away. He wouldn't get to it before Angelus saw what he was doing. Angel frowned. "You've lost your soul yet another time?"

"Oh no," he said. "My soul is safely intact. A soul doesn't necessitate goodness, Green. The Council is, excuse me – was, proof of that. A soul can be vengeful, murderous, and evil."

"As you demonstrated when you wiped out the Council?" Angel didn't flinch or move his gaze from him for even a second.

"That was – one might call it a cleanup job. They played a big part in what happened to Buffy." Wallace shifted his weight back and forth between his feet.

"So, what are you doing here then?"

"_You_ killed Buffy, and therefore you'll find out the bottomless depths of my vengefulness. Let me tell you a little story. The reason to my new, some would say grimmer, others more clear headed, attitude is one stupid guy. It's an interesting story, really. Sit down."

Angel didn't wait for him to either refuse or sit down of his own free will, he grabbed him and threw him into the wall. Wallace crashed into it with a hard thud and slumped to the floor, gasping for breath.

"It all began with an insane, stupid guy. Yeah, a real head tripper, and a dumb one at that. This guy shot this girl, and after 24 hours of torture, she died."

"You know what, vampire? I like this story already," Wallace said in a strained voice, still coughing but yet forcing himself to smirk at Angel. A really stupid move. His eyes darkened and he kicked Wallace in the face.

"Ahh!"

It wasn't a very hard kick – if he had used all of his strength he would have severed Wallace's head without any problem. Still, the power behind this kick was bad enough. He felt blood drip from his nose, and he was pretty sure one or two teeth had been dislodged.

"That's impolite, interrupting my story," Angel said calmly. "Now, if you let me go on. After this girl died, someone close to her became rather… violent. He killed all of the stupid guy's colleges. Some of them quickly, some of them… well, not as quickly." Angel smiled cruelly, but there was no joy behind it.

"Some of them vaporized in the huge explosion that took place where they were working. Then the guy goes home again, and decides he's missed the one that really should be punished. So, he tracks down the guy, disposes of the so-called security guards. After that he breaks in, finds the stupid guy sitting on an expensive couch drinking American beer like he was on some sort of vacation overseas. Then he takes out his frustrations on this guy, taking him up on a promise made months ago…" Wallace stiffened, looking up at Angel.

"A promise I think he remembers," he smirked slightly.

* * *

Several drinks later the three broken soldiers had moved to a table in the middle of the bar, which despite the late hour was still full of life. They had put Lorne's generous offer concerning drinks on the house to considerable use, and for every gulp of alcohol that went down, they could feel the dire thoughts of betrayal and poorness wash away. 

"You know…" Cordelia began, slurring slightly. "They say these things…" she indicated her glass of tequila, "are bad for you. Well, you know, screw them. Joy in a teeny-weeny glass I say. For the first time in weeks, I have no headache… at all." Gunn and Wesley fell silent, looking at her.

"You've been hadding… having headaches for weeks?" Wesley asked, a worried frown on his face. Cordelia realized that she had slipped up. She glared at the drink. Stupid alcohol, making her say things she wanted to keep private.

"You know, from the… the frustration," she tried to cover up. "Frustration and… worklessness." She smiled. "Well, no more of that." The guys seemed to accept her answer.

"Think you'll say the same thing tomorrow?" Gunn teased her.

"Please!" Cordelia downed another drink. "I don't get hunging overs. That's for… loose people."

"Talking about loose people," Gunn cut in, and Cordelia shot him a glare.

"Didn't we agree not to talk about him?" Gunn shook his head.

"You said. I didn't agree. There's a diff."

"Well, anyway," Cordelia muttered.

"I wish we'd done more," Wesley mused in a something of a thick voice. "We are… or at least were, his friends. We should have averted it."

"Well, if you had been more eager to help, maybe we would have," Cordelia said. "If you had actually helped, instead of shaking your finger, and being all, with the precach… precautious no, no, no…"

"No, no, no," Wesley objected.

"If you had told us what dirty tricks those watcher pricks might pull… we would have come with to England and none of this would have happened."

"We can't… can't _know_ that," Wesley said.

"You know," Cordelia said as she reached out for her glass only to find it empty and put it down again. "You say whatever you want, I stick to… whatever you just said. Whatever I just said. You certainly weren't any help to prevent all this."

"Are you blaming this on me?" Wesley said in an offended voice. Cordelia considered it for a moment.

"No, I don't blame… Yes, I'm blaming you. You get The Blame."

Before Wesley got the time to retort Lorne came up to them, seeming almost amused by their less-than-sober discussion. They had told him in short what had happened, and he had been genuinely sorry about Buffy, and said that he could understand how a thing like that, her murder, could drive Angel so far off.

He had said that seeing things from his point of view, trying to imagine his feelings during all those hours when he could do absolutely nothing for his girl… trying to imagine Buffy's suffering, the reaction wasn't strange or exaggerated.

Well, maybe he was right. But it didn't change the fact that Angel's "completely normal" reaction had put his friends in a very difficult situation.

"Well, well," he said, looking at their empty glasses. "Will you be able to keep my floor at least as clean as it is now if I have someone bring you another round?"

"Yes!" They all answered simultaneously.

"Very well then, I'll do that."

"So, where were we?" Cordelia continued. "Blame. Yes. You're getting it."

"I don't see how blaming me will make you feel better," Wesley argued. "But if that's how you want it, perhaps you could have summoned a vision, telling us what was going to happen in London?"

"I don't tell the PTB what to show me!" Cordelia said sharply. "You know that."

"Or at least so you say," Wesley muttered. Gunn stared at them both.

"I'm thinking maybe Angel did the right thing by firing you. The thought of having to listen to that day in, day out – nag, nag, nag, whine, whine, whine… He probably would have ended up killing you instead of them lawyers he's going after now."

"Well, Prince Charming," Cordelia snapped, "are we forgetting that you were fired too? What's to say you weren't the biggest reason, huh?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gunn said with heat as he crossed his arms over his chest. Wesley reached for his new drink.

"Well, Gunn…" Wesley said. "You've never been very supportive of Angel's leadership. How is a man supposed to run a business when his employees don't follow directives?"

Gunn snorted. "Was it one of his 'directives' to hire pansy ass British guy?"

Wesley glared. "My arse is not pansy! Besides… as one recall you were the only one of us that didn't volunteer to go with them to England… The outcome would have been quite different if they'd had more muschle on deck, presum… presumally."

Ignoring Wesley's faulting pronounces Gunn was starting to look really angry. "So now you're blaming me now." Wesley grinned woozily.

"I bloody well am. I'm tired of The Blame."

In a few moments time the three had started a smaller war with words, and only the horrible, screeching sound of a Grox'lar beast singing "All about loving you" kept whole bar from hearing their loud exchange of insults.


	14. WHEN PAST BECOMES PRESENT

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**CHAPTER 14: WHEN PAST BECOMES PRESENT**

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"Miss Morgan?" Lilah's head snapped up at the sound of her secretary. He peeked inside her office with big, frightened eyes, knowing very well what she thought about him opening the door without clearing it with her first.

He knew what she had done to her last secretary. He had secretly gone through her files, planning to use her work to advance within the company himself. When she had found out… Well, no one really knew who - or what, she had sent after him… but they had cleaned him up from the utility closet… on three different floors.

"Don't we use the phone anymore?" She asked him coldly, rejoicing when her secretary seemed to shrink before her. To be fair he probably wouldn't have heard the phone even if the little wimp had used it – she had been completely lost in thoughts for the last hour.

A lot was going on, and the strategy Angel was currently using was driving her insane. For the last two weeks he had – well, he had done absolutely nothing. She hadn't heard a word, and as far as the security system told her, he hadn't been in the building either.

But that didn't mean that she for even a second thought that maybe he got tired of the vengeance-gig and decided to go on a well-deserved holiday… Oh, no. Just the opposite, she knew that it meant that all hell could break loose at any time.

After all, he was eternal. He had forever to pay back for the death of his little slut, if he wanted to.

"Y-you didn't answer, um…" the secretary faltered. "Mr. Taylor is here, and he says it's very urgent."

Lilah stiffened. The head of the Security Department. Uh-oh. She glued her most confident expression to her face.

"Send him in." Her secretary nodded thankfully, hiding a relieved expression as he disappeared out the door and the short, stubby frame of Howard Taylor stepped inside.

"Ms. Morgan," he greeted politely. There was something in his stance, his glance that made her just know what kind of news he was bringing.

Yeah, she knew what he was going to say. If it was good or bad…well, that really depended whether she was speaking in her private capacity or as Lilah, attorney at Wolfram & Hart. For herself, she was actually terrified for her own life and for what Angel might do, even if she wouldn't admit it to anyone, of course. Speaking from the firm's point of view, an assault on Wallace Green, finally, would mean that they were on step closer to the goal.

"I understand that you have much work to do at the moment, so I will cut this short. I wasn't able to establish any contact with the team you sent to the real estate in Sun Valley, and the men I sent out there to check on them found them all dead."

Lilah swallowed and nodded. "And Mr. Green?"

"He was dead as well, ma'am. By the looks of it, he had been tortured to death; the perpetrator must have taken his time. The body was badly beaten, burned and nailed to the wall. We have pictures from the scene," he offered and reached in to his coat pocket.

Lilah looked at the pictures briefly before she put them aside. She would look through them more carefully… just not right now. She wasn't afraid of looking at them or anything. She had seen sketches, if not color photos, of Angelus' work before. But that was just it, wasn't it? This wasn't Angelus' handiwork, it was Angel's. Soul and holier-than-though-attitude intact. Supposedly.

"Also, there was a message written in blood above the mutilated body." Howard handed her a picture, and she looked at it carefully. Five words, she had no idea in what language, so evenly written on the wall that it might as well have been dark red paint.

"How does he write so neatly in blood?" Lilah muttered to herself.

"Long experience. A very expensive brush with squirrel hair," Howard provided. Lilah glared at him.

"That was a rhetorical question, to which I didn't ask for an answer," she said dryly. Howard nodded silently.

"So what does it mean?" she continued finally.

"I sent it passed the translators," Howard shifted his weight uncomfortably. "It's, ah, it's Gaelic, and it means 'until we meet again'."

Lilah frowned. Well, that couldn't reasonably be good, now, could it?

* * *

Angel was in the basement in the Hyperion. He was cleaning. Organizing. Preparing. Preparing for what? He wasn't exactly sure himself. The burning lust for revenge had been replaced with a kind of emptiness after Wallace Green died.

The people closest connected to Buffy's murder were dead, and he found that he had somehow lost his taste for revenge. Going after Lilah and Lindsay, and the rest of Wolfram & Hart… it seemed pointless. The firm would always exist, even if he wiped out every single lawyer. There was no point in it.

He had finished his most gruesome torture session for years just before dawn. He hadn't tortured very many people with his soul intact, and it was hard to believe that he, as Angelus, used to take so much pleasure in it.

The piece-by-piece destruction and the agony coming off of the victim in waves… it didn't seem as appealing when his soul muddled the demon's rejoicing. Wallace Green had died pinned to the wall practically choking on his own blood after suffering for hours just like Buffy had. Poetic justice, one might say.

How did Angel feel about it? That was just it – he felt nothing. Usually he would feel terribly guilty for what he had done to the man, usually he would say that not even a lowlife like him deserved an ending like that. Angelus on the other hand would be full of glee, happy and satisfied after such a cruel kill.

The only flaw in Angelus' mind would be that the people eventually finding the mutilated body in this case wouldn't be Wallace's family, just men from Wolfram & Hart that probably wouldn't even flinch at the sight of the blood and guts covering the place. Well, Angel felt neither joy nor guilt. Maybe he felt muddled smidges of both, but there were no clear emotions. He welcomed the emptiness.

But he wasn't completely empty, unfortunately. She was still on his mind day and night, every single minute of his waking time – which was almost all the time since he had a hard time sleeping. When he finally managed to drift off into a restless slumber, she was there too, in his dreams. It wasn't beautiful dreams where he and Buffy had picnic in a sunny field... oh no. Just as in the real world, his dreams consisted of pain, sadness and suffering.

His chest still hurt with human, disgusting, worthless emotions and he didn't know what to do or where he belonged. It would be easy… so very easy to let go. To loose his soul again. It would be peaceful.

Of course, that was an insane thought. Completely mad, not to mention impossible to accomplish. But still… He just wished for the noise in his head to stop.

Angel froze when he heard footsteps in the stairs. After a second he recognized the steps and scent as Wesley's. So what was this, then? If he hadn't been sure that Wesley came alone, he would have thought that it was the cavalry coming to "rescue him from himself".

But there was only on set of footsteps in the stairs, only one heartbeat drumming in his ears. This was Wesley coming alone… to do what? Try to talk sense into him? Give him a rousing-upper-lip-speech? He heard him take a deep breath, preparing to speak.

"I thought you might like to know we're keeping the agency open - with or without you," Wesley said sternly, keeping his gaze fixed on Angel's black-clad back. Angel didn't answer, didn't turn around – he made no move that even showed that he knew Wesley was there.

"We're working from Cordelia's flat at the moment," Wesley went on, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "It's not much… and we don't have much in the way of resources… but we'll do our best." Why was he telling him this? He didn't care. At least it didn't seem like it. Wesley swallowed hard. "One has to do ones best, after all."

Angel still didn't react.

"You may have turned your back on your mission, but we haven't," Wesley continued. There was nothing. He realized that there was no use. He would get more from talking to the incinerator. He shrugged to himself, sighing in defeat as he turned to walk back up the stairs.

"I realize you've suffered horrible loss," Wesley said, glancing back at Angel's still frame. "But sooner or later, you're going to have to deal with it. Rationally." He stood silent for a moment.

"If you would just let us help you. We've been through a lot together…It doesn't have to be like this, you know."

Angel blinked once, twice, and looked down. Maybe he was right. He realized that Wesley might very well be right. But still, turning around and admitting that, surrender into the 'caring and understanding' arms of Wes, Cordy and Gunn… it seemed impossible.

But still… he had learned over the years that pride is something dangerous that at least on occasion had to be swallowed. He actually considered taking that big step when he heard Wesley sigh deeply and disappear out the basement door, closing it behind him. He turned his head to look at the door.

Okay. This chance was officially blown.

* * *

Cordelia flinched when she heard Wesley open her front door, but she didn't get up from the couch. She had thought that this was a bad idea from the beginning. Wesley wanted to go back to Angel and offer him a second chance somehow – completely useless in her opinion. He had kicked them out. Not the other way around. He hadn't offered them any second chances, they hadn't even heard from him since that day.

"What did he say?" she asked without looking up from her magazine. She didn't want to seem too interested in what Angel did or said; after all she had her pride to think about.

"Said? Oh, you mean what he said during our long discussion we had to clear the air?" Wesley said in a sarcastic voice. "When he told me everything that is weighing him down and cried on my shoulder?" Cordelia sighed. Well. It was expected.

"No luck?"

"No, no such luck. He didn't say anything, and I mean literary, the man didn't say a single word. He didn't even look at me."

Cordelia put down her magazine.

"But he looked tortured, right? Crabby scowl, morbid gloom?" she asked, almost hopefully. If Wesley had been able to read some emotion on him, at least it meant that his soul was still weighing him down. Wesley sighed and sat down in the couch.

"I didn't see him that well from the stairs… but to be quite honest, I don't think so. He just looked… empty." Wesley furrowed his brow. "There was no way of knowing… what he felt, not at all."

Cordelia got up from the couch and started pacing around the living room, clearly worried and for a moment forgetting not to show it to Wesley. "But he's… he got his soul, right? I mean, he didn't try to slit your throat or strangle you or cut you heart out or anything." She stopped and looked at him. "Right?"

Wesley almost smiled a little. "No, no. He didn't even make a move to show that he knew I was even there."

"What shall we do?" Cordelia looked thoroughly miserable. She slumped down in the couch again. Wesley looked at her. She didn't succeed very well in hiding her concern for Angel. Despite everything that he had done to them, how badly he had behaved she wanted to help him.

"I think discretion is the better part of valor right now," Wesley said finally, thinking back at Angel's cold behavior, or rather lack of it, earlier.

"We should give him some time," he continued, hoping that he was right. "We know what we need to know, he is in deep grief and he doesn't want us around right now, and he's not of any immediate danger…" Cordelia looked at him. "At least not to… to innocent people."

There was a beat of silence when Wesley looked at his watch.

"Now, if you excuse me I promised to call and check up on my mother today." Well, he had said that he would call her today. She had been in really bad shape last time he spoke to her… and despite everything, he felt an odd sort of responsibility for her. Not only because it was his mother, but because it was Angel that was the one responsible for his father's death. He was just glad she hadn't asked him to come home for the funeral. Because that… no, he didn't want that.

Cordelia looked at him in confusion before it dawned on her.

"Oh! Oh god, your dad, I didn't even think…"

"Yes… my father… was one of the reported casualties, he died in the explosion," Wesley said flatly, his voice reflecting no emotion.

"Wesley, I'm…"

Wesley held up a hand. "Please don't. I won't shed any tears over my father's death. However, I should show enough respect to make sure my mother is alright in this situation."

Cordelia nodded. "Of course." Wesley started walking out the door. "See you tomorrow," she said to his leaving frame, sinking back into her miserable state of mind. The hang-over wasn't doing much good for her sensitive head.

* * *

How long had it been since Wesley came to see him at the hotel? A month? Not less, he was pretty sure. Maybe more.

Angel was taking a late night walk in the still busy and wide-awake city. His muddled mind needed a break from the hotel where he had spent most of his time the last few weeks. What had he done? Absolutely nothing. He had barely eaten and barely slept so his senses and body weren't what they used to be at the moment. As for carrying on the vicious act of vengeance against Wolfram & Hart… he had just lost his inspiration. Sure, he could go ahead and play roulette with Lilah and Lindsay's heads… but to what end? Even if they had played a part in getting Wallace Green to shoot Buffy, they were just puppets.

Angel sighed. He needed to clear his mind. Everything that had happened over the last few months… That time when Cordelia had sent him after the Bucah for the first time, when he had encountered Toth in that sewer tunnel… back then he had no idea what a train of horrible events that would set off. What impact it would have on the future. If he had known, he would have ignored the Bucah and gone home that night. Such a small thing like dodging the ferula gemina, killing Toth before he had a chance to shoot him, or even to just bury Toth and not burn the body could have prevented all of it. A good deed had led to the ending of many people's lives. If that was the outcome, what was the point in trying to do good, really? If saving one would mean killing ten, twenty or fifty, what was the point? Wasn't it better not to interfere at all?

Angel moved quickly and soundlessly across a street and into an alley. He saw and heard several people he witnessed a mugging, a man beating his girlfriend and possibly an attempted rape, but he didn't even break stride as he passed the people in need. It wasn't like he didn't help them - he just did what 90 percent of everyone else did… he ignored. Minded his own business, whatever that was.

Maybe, he thought, the First had actually been right that time, Christmas to years ago, when it was haunting him. Maybe, in some twisted way, destroying Buffy was really his destiny and maybe evil really was the only thing he truly did have a talent for. Well, he couldn't loose his soul, and he found no meaning in keeping up fighting the good fight. If he just lived his unlife cut off from everyone maybe he would at least complete his existence without ruining life for anyone else.

When Angel came to the mouth of the alley, he froze, stopping dead in his tracks. He felt a familiar – too familiar chill running down his spine. He turned his head and carefully scanned the street close to him. At first he couldn't see or feel anyone that might be the reason to his strange sensation...

But then, he saw her. It was dark and she was far away, but he could recognize her anyway. He would recognize her anywhere.

When she knew that he had spotted her, she smiled a twisted familiar smile and moved into a dark alley, across the street from where Angel was standing. Without considering it, he followed her. He didn't even hear the screeching tires and angry voices behind him when he ran across the street without looking.

The alley was dark, dank, smelling of various odors that Angel didn't even want to try and discern – but most of all, it was empty. Anyone else would have thought that the woman had went right through the alley and was long gone by now, but Angel could still sense her. Knowing that she only taunted him, he stopped.

"Come out, Drusilla," he said with certain strictness that he rarely used on her. He heard her giggle.

"Come closer," she said. He scanned the area and quickly pinpointed her hiding place to behind a big, heavy dumpster. He walked towards it. Drusilla giggled again.

"Ooo, warm, warmer, warmest, ooo," she crooned. Angel stopped about 10 feet from the dumpster.

"Oooh… Can Daddy come out and play?" he heard her voice from behind the dumpster. "Daddy dear, playing here, making fear," she sing-songed.

"Come out," he repeated, refusing to play her games.

Drusilla came out from her hiding place; she seemed to glow in the bright moonlight. She was wearing a black and red dress that Angel remembered vaguely from her time in Sunnydale back in '98 and her skin was so pale that she looked like marble in the white light.

She started walking around him, her hands were in the air and she was humming quietly. The sound could maybe be described like a buzzing. Great, Angel thought, now he was spending his time standing here playing games with a crazy vampire who thought she was a bee. He sighed and grabbed Drusilla by the arms, stopping her.

"Stop it," he said firmly and stared at her. She continued buzzing and tried to wriggle free.

"I said, STOP IT," Angel said in a voice that came out even harsher than he had meant it to. He was gripping her tightly – so tightly that Drusilla gasped. Then she gave a soft moan, one from equal parts pain and pleasure. She looked up at him with her big, dark eyes, for a moment looking like a beaten child, before her face broke into a broad smile.

"Hurt me again," she said, still smiling. Angel loosened his grip for a second, but then he grasped her hard again.

"Do you think that's wise?" he asked in a menacing voice, staring at her cruelly. "I could kill you where you stand." Drusilla giggled and looked him straight in the eye. There was a long beat as they just looked at each other in silence.

"But you won't," she said finally. "You didn't even when_ she_ was here… when you cared." Angel loosened his grip around her arms and took a step back.

"How do you know about that?" he asked her demandingly. Drusilla cradled her left arm to her chest. She started humming again.

"Little dollies... Dancing. Telling pretty stories." She looked at him. "The King of all the land expects a picnic, but his birthday is yet to come," she said happily. Angel narrowed his eyes.

"Right," he said hesitantly. Sometimes even he was lost when it came to understanding her.

Drusilla seemed to forget the pain in her arm quickly, because soon she was circling Angel again, waving her hands. After a few laps she stopped in front of him, standing as close to him as she possibly could without literary pressing herself against him.

"The moon showed me…" She stared so deeply into his eyes that he wanted to look away – but he couldn't. Even with his soul, something about Drusilla still left him spellbound, just as something had attracted him to her when she was human. It wasn't just the visions, even if that was how he had told the story in short when he was in Sunnydale. It was easier that way – and since no one that could tell the truth had been around, at had just been a tiny, white lie.

"The moon showed me," Drusilla said again, "it showed me that Daddy wants to come out." Angel finally snapped out of his trance like state and turned away.

"That's nothing new," he said shortly.

"No…" Dru said and followed him so that she still was standing in front of him, blocking his way. "But this time it's different. This time you want to let Daddy out," she said with a grin. Angel knew that there was no point in lying to her. "You want to stop feeling all the feelings… the burning… the caring. You want the pain to end."

"Even if," he said, without meeting her gaze, "there is no way to make that happen. You know what it takes." Drusilla made a motion that could probably be interpreted as a nod.

"Daddy won't come back until he's happy," she stated. She started to laugh. "Or, until someone pulls all the caring out. Rip, rip, rip…"


	15. CALM BEFORE THE STORM

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CHAPTER 15: CALM BEFORE THE STORM

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Gunn flipped through the channels on his car radio, trying to find something interesting to listen to. There wasn't much in the way of good programs right now though, it was late at night and the only reason he was out at all was because Wesley had beeped him – Cordelia had been having a vision that required some research. The Powers That Be really didn't care what time of day it was.

Last time she had a vision, about two weeks ago, the person in need had been a middle-aged man, co-president or something like that at his company. He had been attacked by a slime demon on the way to his car. In the vision all that was left of him was a pile of sticky clothes, but they had managed to kill the demon and save him. He had even paid them.

Well, it wasn't much, but at least enough for them to eat for another week. Enough for Cordelia to cover her rent for another month. But even if they hung on right now, barely, it was just a question of time before the whole thing collapsed.

Just look at them – they were so called demon detectives – a former watcher, a former gang leader and a former prom-queen-rich-girl-stuck-up. They had no detective license, no office, and no clientele… They couldn't even agree what they would call their illegal, under-the-radar agency. Keeping the name Angel Investigations, as a constant reminder of the one thing they needed and didn't have, had a certain kind if bitter irony to it, as Wesley had pointed out.

Yeah, Angel. It had been over a month since Wes tried to talk to him. They hadn't heard anything, and they weren't exactly sure if that was good or bad news. On one hand, if he tried to blow up Wolfram & Harts offices, they would notice it… on the other hand, who was to say that he wasn't playing out his vengeance-thing in a subtler manner?

Was he even alive? He hadn't said anything to Wes and Cordelia, knowing that they were touchy on the subject, but they couldn't know for sure, could they? They hadn't seen him, heard from him or heard about him. Maybe he had killed himself when he realized that he had nothing to live for anymore. Gunn frowned to himself. He had a hard time seeing Angel give up so completely.

They were getting used to life without him. Well, they did, and they didn't. It was difficult. In the middle of it all, Gunn had been contacted by his old gang, asked if he wanted to come back. What was he supposed to say about that? Angel was the reason he had given up his gang-life in the first place, not Wes and Cordelia. But he couldn't leave them now, not like this. They'd had enough of that this winter.

He sighed when he had to stop at a red light. He couldn't spot any pedestrians and the traffic in the street was pretty slow, so why was it red? Oh, well. He started to drum his fingers against the steering wheel.

Something to the right, on the sidewalk, caught his attention. He couldn't even see what, or who, it was, but he felt a strong urge to stick around and find out. Two people, a man and a woman, became visible when they stepped out of the shadows into the faint light spreading from a streetlamp.It only took Gunn a second to see who the man was.

Angel… He didn't see his face, but he was still sure, he would recognize his black clad frame and spiky hair anywhere. Who was the other person? If Angel had been his usual self it could have been anyone, maybe a girl that he was walking home or a vampire that he wanted to lure into an alley before staking it, but something told Gunn that Angel wouldn't bother with good deeds like that anymore.

When the woman that was walking just a step behind him also became more visible, Gunn had a strange feeling of familiarity. He didn't know who she was at first, but soon he remembered where he had seen her before. It was the skinny, mad vampire girl with the visions from Sunnydale. Driven insane and turned by Angelus.

Drusilla.

He had only seen her briefly before, but it was enough. Well, it certainly explained why he had sensed them even when it was too dark for him to get a good look at them. Many years of vampire fighting had made him very good at sensing vampires.

Gunn clutched the wheel hard. This was bad. Really bad. Even if he, to be honest, didn't know the whole story – what did this mean? If Angel had hooked up with his party girl again, it couldn't be good news. Why would he do that willingly? Drusilla was evil, pure evil of a twisted, very dangerous kind. Angelus had turned her into that, which should mean that Angel would want to be as far away from her as possible… so why?

In Gunn's mind, there were two options. Either he had lost his soul again…or he had just given up. As Gunn had experienced himself growing up, a person doesn't have to be without a soul to be evil. There was no question whether Angel had it in him, and who knew what would happen if he stopped fighting his inherent evil?

* * *

Her head was pounding. Throbbing. The veins on her temples were doing the cha-cha of pain. She felt exhausted and nauseous and still had the taste of blood in her mouth, even though it was almost an hour since she had the vision now. 

Cordelia sighed. It was almost 3 AM and she definitely started to regret letting Wesley come over to her place for some late night researching. When she had called him and told him about the vision, which had been involving a disgusting, slimy Glurgh demon rising in the sewers the following morning, Wesley had stated that he knew nothing about that kind of demon and that they should do some research.

Cordelia had argued that she only had to be involved in the migraines-part of the case, Gunn and Wesley could handle the slaying and therefore she didn't have to participate in the researching. Wesley had seemed to be in his dull watchery-mode and had started off on a speech about commitment and devotion and how important it was that the three of them became a well oiled team now that they were on their own.

Yeah, 'cause they had so many cases, too. Cordelia would have snorted at that if it hadn't hurt her head so much. Since Wesley had spoken to – well, at – Angel that day Angel, or possibly Gunn, Wyndham-Pryce or Chase Investigations had been having exactly three paying clients and a number of useless visions.

Okay, sure, they weren't useless. They had helped all the people and kill all the various hellbeasts – but that wasn't putting food on the table and paying the rent. They might as well change the name into Angel Non-Profit Association. It was fitting, and it wasn't as if they could agree on anything else.

It annoyed her that it was always her apartment that became the obvious choice in temporary office-headquarters every time Angel's place wasn't… available, for some reason. Right now she was sitting in front of a disturbingly large pile of musty old books, most of which Wesley had brought. How had he transported all of them? She didn't even want to know.

She put the book that she had been reading aside, it didn't mention any Glurgh's, and took another one from the top of the pile. They were so old and fragile, she was pretty sure they might melt or disperse into dust if she so much as sneezed on them.

Why was she doing this? She had asked herself that question many times during the last few weeks. All this demon fighting… it was Angel's thing. He had led her onto this self-destructing path in the first place. All this was his fault. The very first time she had seen him, he didn't even see her because he only had eyes for Buffy. Already at that point, she should have walked away – any man that would choose Buffy over her deserved a place among the forgotten. But no, she had continued hanging around, and Angel had been a big reason to why.

Then she had gotten to know that there was more to the "salty goodness" than met the eye. The smoking hot, twenty-something-looking man had been something… a little more than that.

Just two months after the somewhat shocking, and somewhat not – the guy liked _Buffy_ after all, vampire-revelation, Angel turned evil. Because of her being a possible target, and the notion of the fuzzy feeling she had for Xander back then, she had stayed with the Scooby gang, getting more and more involved in everything morbid and gross.

It had been a hard spring – even if they hadn't talked about it much they had all been terrified. Not just terrified of finding one of Angelus' sadistic gag gifts in their beds… that, they could talk about. What they couldn't put words on was the genuine fear for their own lives. The crawling, petrifying knowledge that someone, something, out there lived for and would love to break them down slowly and leave their mutilated bodies as gifts for Buffy… it was hard.

They had made fun of her back then, about her trying to Angelus-proof her car with garlic and crosses, but really the mocking must have been to make light of the paralyzing fear that they all had. Every time Cordelia stepped in to that car when it was dark outside she had to stop after a few minutes, turn on the lights and turn around to make sure that he wasn't there in the dark, un-reflecting and non-breating, enjoying her fear before he attacked her. He never was. But the fear… it never ended.

And the senior year? It hadn't been much better from Cordelia's point of view. It started out with her being taken for a slayer, for _Faith_, and almost killed in a weird demon convent kind of thing, "Slayerfest 98".

Shortly after that she had been impaled and almost-killed again, and heartbroken, kind of, when she and Oz found Xander and Willow smooching.

She really had feelings for Xander a while back then… at least she was pretty sure that they were real. But while Oz and Willow had found their way back to each other, she had cut herself off and never let Xander close in any way after that. It was probably for the best. Everyone she let close seemed to hurt and leave her. Just look at Angel. It was easier to keep the distance. That way many unpleasant let-downs and alike could be avoided.

Angel, Angel, Angel. He could actually be blamed for most things that had led her to this situation, this night and this headache. What if she hadn't met him on that party a year and a half ago? Maybe she had been a famous movie star by now. Even then she could have backed out, but no, she had to stick around long enough to become a freak herself. The visions wouldn't give her the opportunity to stop with the demon hunting gig even if she tried to. She felt the back of her head, which was still really sore. She had taken Seltrax even before she called Wesley, but they hadn't done much good for her so far.

"Have you found something?" Wesley's voice broke off her train of thoughts abruptly. She peeked over the book pile.

"No. Definitely no. More no than ever," she answered dryly. "Of course, it might be because it's 3 o' clock in the morning and I still have a vision headache," she hinted, hoping that Wesley would suggest that they could call it a night. He didn't.

"Things will look up. They're bound to. Gunn should arrive at any…"

Just as he said that, Gunn burst in through the front door and slammed it behind him. Cordelia and Wesley both jumped in surprise as well as fear – they never knew what creature could be breaking in. It was only vampires that needed an invitation after all. Phantom Dennis was obviously frightened too, because a large book from Cordelia's pile flung across the room and hit Wesley in the head.

"Ahh!" He shrieked as he threw himself on the floor and managed to catch his glasses before they shattered against the floor.

"Take it easy, Gunn!" Cordelia demanded angrily. Gunn frowned.

"What?"

"No yelling, and no slamming the doors, you'll scare him."

"Scare _him_?" Gunn looked confused. He glanced silently at Wesley, wondering if he would make a fool of himself if he assumed that Cordelia wasn't referring to him.

"Dennis is very sensitive. He's more of a person than a…" she lowered her voice and spelled out the last word. "G-H-O-S-T."

"Ahh, right." Gunn shook his head. "Isn't it the Poltergeist that's supposed to scare people, not the other way around?"

"He's not a poltergeist. He's more like - like Casper. Kind of. Only manlier, and more... useful." Gunn frowned.

"Useful what way?" he smirked. Cordelia just glared at him.

"So, did you have a reason for bursting in like that, or is it just a part of your macho-man act?" Cordelia mocked as she bent over and picked up the book Dennis had thrown at Wesley, cursing silently for the pain it caused her. Gunn didn't bother to respond to her teasing.

"I think we're in trouble," he said looking first at Cordelia, then at Wesley who was climbing back up on his chair.

"What? Why? The Glurgh, it hasn't risen yet…?" Gunn frowned.

"Glurgh? What's a… Never mind. No… When I was on my way here, I saw Angel."

Wesley stopped cleaning his glasses. Cordelia simply shrugged.

"So? He's a creature of the night-thing, it's kinda natural for him to lurk outside at this time of day. Night." Gunn looked seriously at her. "What?" she asked, slightly uncertain.

"It's who I saw him with. He was walking down the street with Drusilla."

Cordelia let the book fall to the table with a thud. "Drusilla? Drusilla's here?" Wesley looked down at his hands, not knowing what to think.

"Are you… sure? After all, you have only seen her one time, very briefly, it's dark and…" Wesley faltered. Gunn nodded.

"I'm sure. Let's just say you remember that chick when you've seen her." Cordelia sat down.

"So, what does this mean? I mean, it's… bad, right?" she finally uttered. It was a silly question – they already knew that it wasn't good news, but they had no idea why Angel would team up with Drusilla.

"I know what it means," Gunn said. Cordelia and Gunn looked at him with expectation. Did he know something they didn't?

"I know Angel's been bordering on the schizo line since his girl died… but teaming up with Drusilla, that's crossing the line."

"Perhaps there is an explanation of some kind…" Wesley looked at Gunn who didn't change his expression. "Something?"

"I think the only something is the fact that we need to get our head around the fact that the former boss has gone completely off the rocker this time." He looked at them both. "I think it's time we put a permanent stop to all this."

* * *

Lindsay and Lilah walked side by side in silence through the corridors towards Nathan Reed's office. Mr. Reed, yes, their latest superior. Thought he knew everything about the Angel-case when he actually hadn't even met the vampire in personal… yet. 

Lilah was hoping that he would one day.

When Reed had called them to an emergency meeting this morning, they already knew what he wanted to discuss. The latest news concerning Angel, or rather the lack of such. Since Green's messy demise, no more moves had been made. Angel hadn't shown up, or done anything. He had just vanished. Why, or what it meant, they had no idea. Lilah had the unpleasant feeling that Reed wasn't too happy about that.

Neither of them wanted to be where they were – not together and definitely not headed to Mr. Reed's office. He was a nobody, a bald and ugly little snake – but at the moment he was the one in charge. Displeasing him would be displeasing the Senior Partners – which wouldn't do anything good for their health. Disobeying orders often meant the same thing as "watch your brain splatter all over the office" at Wolfram & Hart.

Lilah had a nagging feeling that if Mr. Reed was so disappointed in their work on the Angel case that he felt like narrowing down the number of Vice President's of the Special Projects Department, the odds weren't on her side. For some reason he liked Lindsay, all of the big bosses seemed to. Sure, he was devoted and cunning – but out of the two of them, who had managed to get their hand cut off? Then again, at this firm that might be considered a valuable sacrifice and not a failure. Lilah glanced sideways at Lindsay. He looked relaxed – annoyingly relaxed, his hands in his pockets… or, well, his one hand and his piece of hand shaped plastic.

"How can you be so relaxed? We could be heading to our own execution," she asked him quietly. Lindsay didn't even turn his head as he answered.

"I've told you before, Lilah. There is no point in jumping to conclusions." Lilah didn't listen to him.

"Do you remember that little guy from Internal Affairs, Dan Kim?" He considered it for a moment.

"Yeah… that little fat guy, right? Korean?"

"Right. A lot of those lately," Lilah snorted. "Have you seen the other one? Gavin Park. Thinks he is something. Demon fodder to be if you ask me. Anyway, they called Kim to an emergency meeting last week. Apparently he'd been copying files that he was planning on taking with him when he left for another firm. He barely made it into Mr. Reed's office before they sacked him – and you know I'm not referring to firing him."

Lindsay breathed a sigh of relief when they arrived outside Mr. Reed's office. He really didn't feel like having this discussion with Lilah again. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and knocked by tapping his plastic hand against the door.

"Come in," they heard Nathan's voice from inside the office. Lindsay took a deep breath, put on his "just-enough-confident"-face and opened the door. He walked inside with Lilah right behind him.

Nathan raised his head and smiled a false smile towards them.

"Lindsay, Lilah," he acknowledged as he waved his hand at the chairs in front of his desk. "Sit down."

As if he enjoyed watching them sweat, come to think of it he probably did, Nathan was quiet for almost two full minutes before he looked up from his papers again. He looked first at Lindsay, then at Lilah. She felt small and insignificant under his penetrating gaze. At last, he spoke.

"So, let's cut right to the chase, shall we? I think you're both aware of why you are here. There are a few things that need to be discussed." There was a moment of silence as Nathan picked up the papers he had in front of him and put them in a folder.

"Angel has given us much more trouble than we ever could imagine when he first showed up here. Since that time, however, we have learned that Angel's purpose is greater than just being the scourge of all things bad. He is so much more than that. The prophecies all agree that when the final battle is waged, he plays a key role. That part is very clear. Which side he's on is the gray area, and we're gonna continue making it as gray as possible. You both understand all this, I'm sure. This is why I've brought you here today, to tell you that your work with this case has been…"

Here it comes, Lilah thought.

"…excellent," Nathan concluded with a grin. Lilah had to struggle to maintain her calm and even façade, she discretely side glanced at Lindsay to see his reaction. He didn't move a muscle, but she could see that he was surprised too. He hadn't expected this either.

"Excellent?" Lindsay repeated in a strained voice.

"Yes, excellent. Of course we find that the downside is that we haven't seen much in the way of action on Angel's part since he killed Wallace Green, but according to my reports, we are still making progress."

Lindsay frowned. "Progress… how?" Nathan frowned.

"Angel is alienated from his friends. He has given up his 'path to redemption', and he is in deep pain and grief. And in the worst of times, the best changes are made."

"How?" Lindsay spoke. "If he's just sitting in his basement, brooding, how will we get him closer to the goal?

Nathan smiled a smile that maybe would be suitable if he tried to explain something to a very small child.

"I never said that he was doing that. According to my sources Angel is currently back to drinking human blood, not from living persons yet but we have on tape when he raided a blood bank today before dawn, and he's been spotted with Drusilla. He has stopped going after people in need, and he's cut off from his gang of friends, including his link to the Powers, the seer."

"Aren't we forgetting that Drusilla has visions as well?" Lindsay asked dryly, covering his surprise. He hadn't known about Drusilla.

"She has, but the kind that we are glad to see him with. Drusilla won't get him to save anyone, if anything she will speak to his darker side. The side we are interested in. Every one of these little pieces of the puzzle tells me that when the trigger is pulled, things will unfold exactly the way we're hoping for."

Lilah was dangerously close to smiling. This was going well! Not only was he not angry, he was actually pleased with their work.

"Until then, you are to keep pushing things in the right direction. Lindsay, I have assignment for you that I will tell you about more thoroughly later. It shouldn't be long now, before we have him just as dark as we want him." He fell silent, staring at the two lawyers through his glasses, his eyes looking small and beady.

"Who knows," he continued with a slight smirk. "Maybe he'll even kill you two down the line." They stared back at him. Lindsay was the one to regain his sense of speech first.

"Wouldn't that be something of a… failure?" Reed hid a smile.

"I think it could actually play in the firms favor."

"I thought you said you were pleased with our work?" Lilah said weakly with an uncertain smile. Reed shook his head a little.

"You don't understand your place in this, do you? If he actually killed you, it would be yet another good sign that Angel is on the path to joining our team. And as hard as it is to lose good attorneys, well the truth is - you are both… expendable," he said, smiling cheerfully as if he had just told them that they would get a nice raise and a lollipop each for their fine work within the firm. The smile soon faded and his face was once again dead serious.

"Angel – isn't. What both of you need to understand... what Holland Manners understood, is that down the line, sacrifices might be necessary. Sacrifices of a - somewhat unpleasant nature, perhaps. But this, this is what separates a good attorney from a great one." He stared at them. "You'll do well to remember that. Both of you."


	16. RERUN

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**CHAPTER 16: RERUN**

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Wesley inhaled deeply and exhaled an audible sigh. He let his tired, aching body sink further into Cordelia's couch and looked first at Cordelia, then at Gunn. Cordelia was sitting on the edge of a chair and Gunn was standing, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His stance was stern and defensive, but Wesley could see that he was tired too. They all were. Cordelia had dark circles under her eyes, Gunn was still sticky and sweaty from practically wrestling with the Glurgh this morning and Wesley himself could barely move his left arm.

As it turned out, Glurgh's were made out of 90 percent pos but still possessed large pointy teeth and sharp claws. They had all gotten away and the Glurgh was now just a stinky puddle in the sewers, but it had been a pretty close call for him. The Glurgh had almost managed to decapitate him at one point, but thanks to a heroic intervention from Gunn he had gotten away with a nasty looking wound over his collarbone and shoulder. He just wanted to go home, slip into more comfortable clothes while avoiding looking at the shredded shoulder, perhaps have a scotch… or two, before going to sleep.

But he couldn't do that. They had something else of great importance to discuss first. Angel.

"So, we know what's what, right?" Gunn looked at them demandingly.

"Funny," Cordelia murmured. "I thought that was just the thing we _didn't_ know."

"We know Angel's teamed up with Drusilla somehow," Gunn persisted. "And we know we have to do something."

"What is that then, Charles?" Wesley gave him a tired look. "What do we have to do? Angel's made clear that he doesn't want our help." Gunn shrugged.

"Who says I was talking about helping him?" he said, his voice colder than before. Wesley frowned slightly.

"What do you suggest, then? That we kill him?" Gunn didn't flinch.

"Isn't that what we do? Sorry; what we're _supposed_ to do? Even though you wouldn't think so, what with all the exceptions lately." Gunn and Wesley stared at each other, Gunn still defensive and Wesley clearly stung by his words. Cordelia looked first at Gunn, then at Wesley and then back at Gunn again.

"Stop. Wait. Think," she said as calmly as she could muster. "We can't just go all John Wayne on him. We need to think about this. Maybe he has a plan of some kind." Gunn shook his head.

"I have thought about it. I'm just saying, if we leave this, chances are it'll blow up in our faces. Look, I haven't been in the loop for so long, but I've learned a few things; that Drusilla and Angel equals badness is one of them." He stared at Wesley. "Am I wrong?"

Wesley looked away, well aware that Gunn might very well be right. He was just so tired. Tired of trouble, and fear, and dark clouds of worry hanging over his head. He realized that he had been more or less permanently tired since this madness with Angel first started… it was approaching four months now.

"We should still find out first. What's with the whole 'stake first, ask questions later'-tude?" Cordelia scowled.

"Cordelia…" Wesley began slowly. "Gunn may have a point in his reasoning."

"He isn't reasoning at all! He just wants this over with the easy," Cordelia snapped.

"Hey," Gunn defended himself. "I have no problems with Angel, alright? But if he's in for another apocalypse or who knows what, I think it's better we take action now instead when the world is being sucked into hell or something. You told me this Drusilla chic has it in for ending the world, it happened twice when Angel was bad the first time in Sunnydale, right?"

"Angel, or rather Angelus, helped bringing an eviscerating demon called the Judge into action, and he awakened Acathla that spring. By what I've heard about Acathla, it was a very close call that time," Wesley said, recalling the fragments of the story he had been told over the years.

"He didn't assemble the smurf guy, that was Drusilla and Spike," Cordelia objected. "He just kinda … joined in when Humpty Dumpty was already put back together again."

"Yes, because Angelus was the only one of them pure enough in his evil to control the Judge," Wesley pointed out. Gunn looked at him.

"I think that says a thing or two about him."

"Angel is not Angelus!" Cordelia exclaimed. "We've all met him, don't tell me I'm the only one seeing the distinction?"

"The evil is still in him and even if he hasn't lost his soul this time, what's to say he can't go bad?" Gunn argued. To that, Cordelia had no answer.

"No matter which way we look at this, the final solution might be best for all of us. For the world… and for Angel himself," Wesley said. Cordelia glared at him.

"Yeah, 'cause, fitting inside a dustbin? So much fun!" Wesley tried to explain in a more diplomatic way.

"The way I see it, there are two possible reasons to why he might join Drusilla. The first and most obvious of course being that he might be soulless again."

"And how would that be?" Cordelia got up from her chair, pacing. "The one who usually drives him over the edge isn't here, or didn't you remember?"

"You're right," Wesley said calmly. "It's not likely that something like that has happened. Which leads us to the other possible reason… I think… I think he would have to be driven very deeply into despair to be with her with his soul intact. Maybe so deeply that killing would be… merciful for him."

"Yeah, great! So now he's the suffering dog that it would be _kind_ to put down? We have to know more before we do anything, why is that so hard to understand?" Cordelia said in an upset voice, not even sure herself why she was defending Angel so eagerly.

"The evil is in him, Cordelia. I'm not saying that he _is_ evil, but the darkness lies under the surface. We don't know what happends if he allows himself to stop fighting it. We don't know who he is."

"He's _Angel_!" she cried out. "Think about this. He might be behaving like a crazed vampire right now, but what if it really the desperate man that is the cause of it?"

Was she saying this? Was she, Cordelia, standing here, defending Angel with a fiery passion? What was wrong with this picture?

"Yeah, but what happens when the 'desperate man' becomes desperate enough to release the crazed vampire inside?" Gunn pointed out.

She collected herself before she spoke again. "Look, I know I haven't really been the chairman of the Federation of Making Excuses for Angel's Behavior… But he has done so much for us. _All_ of us. We owe it to him to at least try to help him out of this – in a way that doesn't include pointy wooden things in the chest. He would do the same thing for us." Cordelia looked from Wesley to Gunn and tried to interpret their expressions. Gunn looked ice cold at first, but when Cordelia's words sank in, he seemed to soften up a little bit.

"Alright," he said after a moment's silence. "As long as he still has his soul, you have my help... _saving_ him. BUT, if Angel the badass walks through the door, I won't be pulling any more punches."

Cordelia nodded. "Deal."

All three of them were very quiet for a few minutes. The heated discussion seemed to have drained them. Cordelia was pretty sure she could fall asleep where she stood if she didn't say anything soon.

"So… any suggestion where to begin?" she said finally. She looked at Wesley. He looked so lost. Even though he was raised for this – for making plans and giving orders, he was still lacking when put in charge over things. He stared at the door, his gaze empty. It was as if he waited for Angel to step inside and tell him what to do… oh, the irony.

"I thought I could go over to my old hood," Gunn said finally. "See if any of the guys have heard of anything. If he's done anything… or if he's Angelus, that would make ripples, right?" Yeah, that was one reason. Not to mention the fact that it would give him the chance to meet his old friends, show his interest and check up on them, neatly slipping into the conversation that he wasn't planning to come back to them anytime soon…

Cordelia nodded. "Oh, yeah. Angelus didn't just loose the 'Living Covertly' competition, I think his entry was burned and the dust used as an ingredient in laughing gas." Gunn and Wesley stared at her.

"Okay, I could have just agreed," she said with a shrug. "Anyway, I can go to Caritas and see if Lorne has heard anything. If anyone of the people or demons that has been singing at his place has met during the last few days Angel, he should now about it."

"Yeah, good." Gunn nodded, glancing at Wesley. The man seemed to have become ten years older in just the last few months. He sat slumped in the couch, his left arm hung slack over the armrest. His glasses lay on the table – they had been cracked during the fight earlier anyway. He was wearing brown, washed out jeans and a simple grey shirt, now caked with drying blood. He was the perfect picture of what they all felt at the moment. Exhaustion. Pain. Hopelessness.

"What about you, man?"

"Maybe you should stay here," Cordelia suggested in a rare moment of expressing her concern. "You look a little pale." Wesley tried to smile a little, but it came out more as a grimace.

"Ooh, ah, I think I can make myself useful in some way. I thought perhaps I could go down to the police station… visit Detective Lockley."

"Police-Kate?" Cordelia snorted. "Yeah, 'cause she and Angel parted on so good terms, what with the running from a crime scene and all." Wesley frowned, remembering.

"The explosion. Right. Anyhow, friend or enemy of Angel's, she is a police officer. If she has seen anything… out of the ordinary… that might be connected to Angel, she could be of valuable help."

"Gas to the flames, I'm just saying," Cordelia muttered.

"I'll choose my words carefully," he assured. "I won't tell her what Angel's been up to lately, I… I can assure you that."

"Wouldn't it be hard to tell her something you don't actually know yourself anyway?" Gunn asked dryly. Wesley pulled his mouth into a thin line.

"I guess I better resort to public transportation today," he murmured, moving his arm tryingly. "Cordelia, why don't you take my car."

* * *

Angel sat in his bedroom in the hotel. It was still daylight and he should be asleep, but he couln't see the point. Besides, this way he could make sure that Drusilla behaved. He was pretty sure that she wouldn't try to go anywhere as long as the sun cast its deadly beams outside, but he didn't trust her not to use the sewer access if she wanted to. 

She was a vampire after all. Not a trustworthy creature.

So far she had been inside every single room in the hotel, she had told him that she wanted to live outside in the garden – until Angel had pointed out the issue of painful tanning – and currently, she was doing laps around Angel's bedroom, waving her arms and humming.

Angel liked to study her. When he didn't have a soul he enjoyed studying her for two reasons – there was his general fascination with her, and there was the fact that Drusilla was a piece of art. She was the embodiment of the complete destruction of a human being, something that – not surprisingly, made him proud when he was soulless.

Right now, when he was wallowing in despair, he liked watching her because it made him feel even more miserable than before. When he looked at her pale, skinny body he remembered everything that he had done to her before he turned her. It brought back every little detail of all of it.

When he had first laid eyes on her, she had been pure, and chaste, and sweet… and he had slowly destroyed her, piece by piece. When he had stalked her for a long time, killed her entire family and all her friends, posed as a priest every time she visited the confessional and told her she was a spawn of Satan, she was physically and mentally exhausted, bordering insane and running away from the shattered pieces of her life. He had ripped her innocence away from her in every possible way.

Maybe she could still have been saved if she had been taken care of at the convent she fled to – but he had been hot on her heels. The very same day she was supposed to take her holy orders he showed up and slaughtered every single nun in front of Drusilla. That broke her completely. She was only a shell of what she had been once when he made out with Darla practically on top of her – then he turned her into a demon, damned her forever. Trapped her in her broken and insane state of mind.

Drusilla's story had much in common with what he had done to Buffy. There were pivotal differences of course – Buffy hadn't gone insane, even if she might very well have considering all the horrors he had put her through, and he hadn't been soulless the entire time from when he first met her until… until her death. In a way, that made his treatment of her even more sinister, Angel thought. She had loved him and he had turned on her, several times in fact.

Just like with Drusilla he had managed to kill her entire family too, along with several of her friends, before he turned her. Yeah, he was really a hero.

If Buffy was with him right now, she would tell him to stop brooding and open his eyes to the fact that he and Angelus weren't one and the same. Since she knew that he refused to view himself and Angelus as separate beings, she would tell him that while Angelus was a pure demon, he – ANGEL – was a man, a good human soul, with a demon inside. Then she would make it all better, somehow, just like she always did. Or, just like she always had…

Maybe she would tell him that the time when the Judge had tried and failed to burn Angelus was solid proof that the two of them weren't the same being. Angel had a human soul and Angelus was so pure in his evil that the Judge didn't even find anything in him to burn. Okay, actually he wasn't sure if Buffy had known that the Judge had tried to burn him… but still, that was what she told him in his fantasy. He could almost see her, feel her, smell her…

He snapped back into reality when he heard the sound of glass shattering. He looked at Drusilla. She had walked into the cupboard where he had put all the remaining photographs of Buffy, and the glass in the frames had broken when they fell to the floor.

"Don't do that!" he hissed harshly, and Drusilla's face crumbled.

"Ooh," she whimpered. "Ooh, ooh… so many harsh words. "One day, he'll regret it. He'll regret it all."

"Don't flatter yourself," Angel muttered. She shook her head, rocking her body back and forth.

"He doesn't know it yet," she murmured. "But one day…so much regret. And guilt." Angel sighed, taking his attention off of his crazy excuse of a childe.

Of course, if Buffy was with him right now, she would see that there was a flaw in that logic somewhere – her vision of the righteous Angel couldn't possibly murder dozens of people without caring. No, the truth in Angel's mind was and always would be that he was exactly as dangerous with a soul as he was without it – he just didn't enjoy wreaking havoc the same way.

This reasoning led Angel to the conclusion that maybe everyone would be better off if he lost his soul again. If he gave in and took the easy way out, again. He was good at that. He was fairly certain that he wouldn't seek his own friends… former friends, or Buffy's friends in Sunnydale – the only reason to why Angelus had been so determined to hurt them was to make Buffy suffer, and because he automatically hated everything that had made Angel the most human, all his links to the human world. He already knew that Buffy's friends in Sunnydale hated him… and after how he had treated his so called friends, they probably did too. His links to the world of the living were cut off. Maybe it was for the better.

It would be so easy to let go again. So peaceful.

He had done so much bad in his long life, and it had eventually driven him to living in filthy alleys – feeding of vermin, hiding from the world. Then _she_ had come along. The opportunity to assist her by backing her up in her fight against the darkness had kicked him out of his alley and onto the path of redemption. It had seemed like his salvation, his chance to not only suffer for what he had one in the past, but to make amends, to use his experience and strength to do good instead of devoting his existence to evil.

Well, looking back at the last five years, he should have stayed in that alley. It was painfully obvious that it was exactly what the gypsies had intended – for him to exist indefinitely in everlasting mental anguish. Not to live as human, and definitely as a loved human. He wasn't meant for this, which had to be the reason to why he had managed to screw it up countless times.

Drusilla walked up to him and sat down on his lap. He didn't exactly allow it, but he didn't push her away either. She started to touch him. He stared into space. If he tried to focus on what she was – his childe, just like Buffy had been before she died, and not WHO she was, maybe he could pretend that she was her. She leaned close to him, and when she had her head in position just above his neck, he felt her morph. He stiffened. No, he couldn't. He grabbed her and pushed her away.

"No," he said in a determined voice. Drusilla got up and glared at him.

"He's gone," she said, but not exactly to him. Angel assumed that she was talking to something in the sky – the moon or maybe the stars. She did that a lot, and the fact that it was daylight never seemed to bother her. "He's all gone. It's not daddy, it's not the Angelbeast. Who is it?" Her gaze became focused and she looked at Angel.

"You used to feed me. Why won't you any more?" Her big, dark, strangely innocent eyes stared at him without blinking, without flinching for even a second. And he felt his usual pull towards her. It annoyed him, fascinated him and bewitched him, all at the same time.

"Drusilla," he warned with a dangerous edge in his voice.

"You used to hurt me. Why won't you anymore?" Angel looked away, swallowing hard.

"There used to be cake, and present and a nice celebration. It will be again, when you're happy enough. Now there are only games. We'll be a family again, and our family will grow."

"Forget it," he said. "That can't happen again. Not now." A beat of silence. "Not ever."

"Happy daddy, daddy happy…" she crooned. Angel seriously considered smacking her with something hard to be relived of listening to this for at least a few hours.

"The moon told me… there's yet another way to bring back daddy. Angel expected her to wave her arms and sing-song in her usual fuzzy manner, so she caught him completely of guard when instead she pulled out a small carving knife, launched at him and stabbed him in the chest. He growled and pushed her away roughly – hard enough for her light body to fly through across the room and crash into the wall 12 feet or so away. He glared angrily at her as he carefully removed the knife.

"What the hell are you doing?" She giggled from her position on the floor.

"Daddy is still in there," she said, "and all it takes to have him back is to cut, cut, cut, cut all the caring out." Angel narrowed his eyes.

"A shaman?" Was he even considering it? It was insane. He was insane. Even thinking that would mean betraying everything he and Buffy had meant, disgracing her memory, throwing away a hundred years of suffering and trying to make amends… And still, he found that the thought was actually appealing. For his heart to be light and his head to be silent…not having to drag around these useless, burning emotions anymore. It should disgust him… but it didn't.

"In a way," Drusilla said absently. "He will be at his worst before he becomes his best, all over again. Water and fire and blood. Making it all right." Drusilla got to her feet, took the bloody knife from Angel's hand and licked it. Angel got up from the chair and grabbed Drusilla hard by her wrists. He spun her around and smacked her back against the wall. She giggled, and he pinned her harder against the wall, using his whole body to keep her in place. She kept very still but breathed heavily from the excitement. This, she knew. He had played his rough, dominating games with her for years and years… before and after she became a vampire.

"Hurt me again," she moaned.

"Maybe I will," Angel said, not even sure himself if it was a threat or a promise. It didn't really matter; those two were about the same thing to Drusilla. He kissed her – not tenderly, not lovingly, but roughly and desperately, as if wanting to suck the energy out of her. When he broke it off Drusilla switched into gameface and started to unbutton his shirt.

Slowly, tryingly, she let her fangs sink into his neck and he didn't stop her. He ripped apart her corset-like dress, not bothering with the laces. He pulled her away from his neck and shoved her onto his bed. Before she had time to get up, he straddled her, pinning her legs to the bed, unceremoniously ripping her clothes off. She was more than willing, stretching out her arms above her head, moaning and wriggling under him. She laughed again. Why? He wasn't hurting her that much now. Did she have a vision? Was she happy about this?

"Why are you laughing?" She kept on laughing and held her hands to her stomach as if the lack of breath made her gut hurt. Angel knew she was just fooling around. He hit her in the face, hard – bruising her cheek and cutting off the giggle abruptly. She smiled, whimpered and licked the blood from her split lip when he grabbed her by the hair and held her head still against the bed.

"I said, why are you laughing?" he hissed.

"Many reasons," she panted. She wanted this. He had taught her to want this – he had compelled the still human and previously chaste Drusilla to learn everything he shown and done to her. Forcing himself on her, savaging her until she wasn't able to feel any more pain, until she had no more screaming and crying and begging left in her body. He had raped and abused her as close to death as possible the last time, with Darla watching, before he turned her.

"I see the most miraculous things, bouncing around, around, around. Ooh, Daddy. And I see death, reeking, and wonderful malicious death." She whimpered. "Our family," she whimpered. "There will be death… only death… so much… Death."

Now that was cryptic – just like most things Drusilla said. Sometimes it actually meant something. Sometimes she just foretold how she would find a frog hopping around in the garden. With Dru, you never knew. And frankly, right now, he didn't care. Leaning forward he kissed her roughly again, tasting her blood while her pale, thin fingers unbuckled his belt and began tugging at his pants.

A part of told him that he shouldn't do this. He was rushing headlong into something that wouldn't allow itself to be stopped, and he shouldn't.

Why shouldn't he? What possible reasons spoke against the act? If he had a moment of perfect happiness, all the better, even though he couldn't see how that would happen. If he didn't, at least he would get to feel something, if even just for a little while. And he wanted to feel something – anything, besides the cold.


	17. SALVAGE MISSION

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**CHAPTER 17: SALVAGE MISSION**

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L.A. traffic was _so_ not like in the movies, Cordelia thought. In the movies you never had to wait 15 minutes to get past one single red light, it was never so hot that the characters nearly dissolved into a wet puddle before they found shadow… The real world involved sweat, and bodily odors which she still couldn't accept actually came from her, incredible boredom and a huge waste of valuable time.

Wesley's car wasn't exactly a convertible like Angel's Plymouth – actually, it wasn't _anything_ like Angel's Plymouth. When Wesley had first told her that even if their budget was tight, to say in the least, they really needed another car, she had thought it was a good idea. Gunn's truck was his, not theirs. They needed a company car.

So she had agreed, but if she had realized what kind of car he was planning on buying, she probably wouldn't have. Electrically operated windows? Nuh-uh. Air condition? Oh no… The car was dense and warm, and black – when would Wesley remember that it didn't rain as much in L.A. for a whole year as it did in England during a month? Oh, well. The irritation was starting to give her a headache. Cordelia drummed her fingers against the steering wheel and glared angrily at the red-light, trying to command it to change color.

Lorne hadn't been able to help her with a current status on Angel, none of his recent clients had met him. Was it a good sign or not? She didn't know. At least he couldn't reasonably be Angelus again. An event like that would make ripples.

Still, she would have preferred if he had been able to give her some information, just some little thing. She was still fumbling in the dark, and she didn't like it at all. Hopefully Gunn or Wesley had done better.

The light switched to green. Finally! Cordelia exhaled a sigh of relief when she stepped down on the gas pedal. Her head was killing her by now – it must be the heat and the irritation gnawing at her sensitive head.

Or, at least so she thought.

When she was in the middle of the intersection the headache had grown more intense, and she started to realize that it was something more, something she definitely didn't want to deal with right now. Any time really, but especially not here and now.

A vision.

"No… no!" she panted to herself, concentrating on keeping her hands still on the steering wheel.

She should have learned to sense them sooner by now, and she should know better than driving alone in the middle of the city in rush-hour traffic. She couldn't stop in the middle of the street, and she definitely couldn't keep on driving. Desperately she let her gaze run back and forth, searching for a place to stop.

She was about to pass the only usable turn-off that the road had on the right side before her apartment, and she figured it was either that or take the risk of driving and having the vision at the same time. Since driving and vision-ing simultaneously probably would end her up smashed and flattened, she quickly decided on the former.

She stepped on the breaks and heard screeching tires – both from Wesley's car and from the ones right behind her. Someone yelled at her. Her dulled eyes saw a long finger sticking out from a car window when it passed her, but it didn't matter.

The only thing that mattered was holding on, not loosing control. She pulled over into the small parking lot. Another car passed her, avoiding to crash right into her with only an inch or two, yelling and swearing. She didn't even notice. The flashes and images started going through her head.

She saw… Angel. He was sitting in his room at the hotel. Drusilla was there with him. They were talking about something – she didn't get the sound, but she could sense Angel's feelings. He was so depressed, so sad. He was physically and mentally exhausted; Cordelia experienced his feelings in full. She could feel emptiness, his soul was there alright, but it wasn't what it had been before. Something was missing.

The images changed and she saw something else. She saw… a robed man of some kind, casting an incantation. She couldn't see on whom before the images changed back to Angel… Angel falling to his knees in agony. She felt his pain. She gasped for breath, and the current lack of it was the only thing keeping her from screaming out loud. She clutched her chest and tried to concentrate on the images as they rapidly became more and more interesting…

Angelus. She saw Angelus. She could feel him too, and it wasn't pleasant. She was Angelus… and Wesley. She never saw what happened – what he did to him before she saw herself cry and hug Gunn who wasn't far from tears either, standing in the hospital. Her sweater was covered in blood. Now she got the sound as well. She heard herself cry desperately, and she could hear screaming… so much screaming.

When the images stopped her head fell backwards against the headrest, her whole body shuddering violently. She felt the taste of blood in the back of her mouth. She wasn't sure if it was from the vision of if he had bit her tongue…all emotions washed over her and she could barely hold back tears from everything she felt, from seeing herself hurting so badly and from feeling Angel so devastated.

What was going to happen? What was Angel about to do? Her head still throbbing – she could hear her own pulse so loudly that she could barely think straight, and her eyesight still dulled, she tried to keep her hands still enough to start the car again.

When would it happen, and WHAT was it that was about to happen? She couldn't piece the images together. There was Angel and Drusilla, and an incantation, and something that led to Angel loosing his soul again. Was it the incantation? Was it Drusilla? Why didn't the car start!

Oh. Because she had pulled the key out of the ignition when she stopped a few minutes ago…

With a bad headache that made her sure that something must be physically damaged in her head, and a sinking feeling of nausea and fear in her stomach, she steered back into the street and headed to her apartment. Something really bad was going to happen, and by the feeling she had, someone wasn't going to walk away from it.

* * *

Rondell was loading the truck, preparing it for tonight's vampire hunt when he heard a creaking behind him. He froze, very silently picking up the crossbow he was just about to chuck into the truck. He turned around, staring at the shadows. Vampire? It wasn't likely. The sun was still shining outside, it was unbearably hot even for someone that didn't deep fry outside. That a vamp would risk its unlife just to come and say "boo" to the feared demon killers was unlikely. 

A second later Gunn came, walking quickly and somewhat stiffly. He was there on business, Rondell could see it before he even said a word. It wasn't a social call, or the beginning to a reunion with his old crew. He was there because he wanted something.

"Well, look who emerges. Hail stranger. How are things on your side of town?" Gunn frowned. This was beginning well.

"My side?"

"Yeah. Your side, with them fancy buildings and all that." Gunn sighed silently. If he only knew.

"Didn't come here for this," he muttered.

"Right. So what did you come here for?" Rondell put down the crossbow in the back of the truck.

"I have questions. Maybe you have answers," Gunn began carefully, studying the car. "New rig?"

"Well, we needed a ride, and since yours was kinda out of reach, we pieced together what we could find."

Gunn gave the truck and appreciative look. It wasn't what one would describe as a beauty, of course, but he could see that they had put a lot of work in to what probably had been mostly picked up from the junk yard and the scrap heap.

"She's looking good."

"She's allright." Rondell crossed his arms over his chest. "Gunn, okay, man. Something tells me you didn't drive all the way over here just to admire my ride. What's up?"

"Yeah, about that." How was he supposed to tell him in a good way? The gang had never really fully accepted that Angel was a good guy – they had looked the other way because he had accepted Angel and they had respect for him… but Gunn was definitely not sure that the notion of a possibly evil Angel prancing around town would put them in anything else than a killing mood.

"I'm here to ask you about Angel." Rondell frowned, his expression surprised.

"Angel? Your vamp-buddy? What could you possibly ask me about him?"

"It's a long story," Gunn hedged uneasily. "Thing is, his girl got killed a few months back."

"That's what happens to vamps sooner or later. Most of 'em anyway, if they don't find their personal protector," Rondell shrugged, and Gunn found himself angry at his old friend for dismissing Buffy's death so easily. To Rondell she was just another vampire getting dusted. If things went his way he would do the same to several vamps in a few hours time, just like he did every night, and had done so for many years.

"Listen to me," Gunn said, biting back his anger. "Her death put him in something of a vengeance mood. He's been getting back at the people who did it to her."

"Is this the part where you tell me your good vamp wasn't just quite as good as you thought him to be? 'Cause… color me surprised."

"I'm not here to discuss that," Gunn said shortly. "I was wonderin' if you and the gang maybe heard something… saw something." Rondell shook his head.

"If we _had_ met your vamp goin' all vengeancy-like, wouldn't have been much left to see," he said easily, and Gunn believed him completely. If Rondell and the gang had met Angel and found him dangerous to the populace in any way… they would have taken care of it.

"Okay," Gunn said finally. "I get it." Rondell nodded silently. Gunn moved back and forth uneasily, unsure what to say next.

"So, I guess I better…"

"Right," Rondell interrupted. "You better get back to them fancy new friends of yours." Gunn looked at him.

"I don't… you don't understand." Rondell smiled sadly.

"Oh, I understand alright. Understand just perfect."

He kept his gaze locked on Gunn for a few seconds as if hoping to find something there, some form of explanation, some way of understanding. They had been friends for years, many years. They had lived together in the gang since they were both still teenagers. The crew had been tight – they had done everything together. Ate, slept, killed… they had _survived_ together. While the others had fought vampires to live, Gunn had loved it – the dangerous life, the thrill of the kill. It had all ended that day – last spring.

"How did this happen?" he asked, already knowing that Gunn wouldn't be able to give him an answer. He looked up at him.

"What? How did what happen?"

"How did it become like this? A year ago, you lived for this." Gunn looked down. "What changed?" Gunn didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. But Rondell knew – he saw it in his eyes.

"It was Alonna, man. Nothing was ever the same after Alonna." Gunn swallowed hard.

"Couldn't even protect my own sister," he said silently, his voice raspy, his muscles tensioning and his breath getting caught in his throat at the painful, horrifying memory. "And if I couldn't do that, what could I ever do for you?"

"A lot. You done a lot, man. There's people alive because of this, you know." Gunn winched at that, thinking back to all those who didn't live – because of him, because of choosing a life at his side.

"Yeah, and there's a lot of people dead because of it, too," he said somberly.

"I'm serious," Rondell persisted. "All these kids… myself… you. How many of us do you think woulda made it out there, on our own? What you started changed things, don't you go telling me nothin' else." Gunn smiled a little.

"Not something I started. Something we started." He paused for a second. "But y'all are doing fine without me these days. And I have to go back to a few people that actually need me."

When Gunn started walking away, Rondell spoke again.

"You sure they really _need_ you?"

"I hope so."

* * *

"So cop-lady didn't know nothin'?" 

Wesley winched slightly at Gunn's phrasing but refrained from saying anything. He slowly put his newly cleaned glasses back on, sighed deeply and looked at him.

"No… nothing." He frowned, thinking back at the meeting with Kate Lockley. She had been cold and hard, and he wasn't sure if she had even recognized him before he introduced himself as "formerly employed by Angel".

At that point her eyes had become even harder and she had informed him that she knew nothing about Angel; where he was, what he was doing, which laws he didn't feel inclined to follow, as she had said. He had kept trying, asked her when she saw him last, but she insisted that she hadn't seen him since the explosion last spring.

She had however received an anonymous note several months back, telling her where his new headquarters were. She had gone over there, she said, but no one had been there. Wesley had counted silently and realized that they had probably all been in Sunnydale, dealing with Angelus-type business at the time. Of course, he didn't tell her that…

"How about your… your source?" Gunn shrugged, thinking back at the meeting with Rondell. 'If we'd met him, there wouldn't be anything left to see.' Maybe it was best if he excluded that comment when speaking to Wes and Cordy. He had the strangest feeling that they wouldn't quite understand it.

"Nothing," he said shortly, hoping that Wesley would be able to read that he didn't want to talk about it. He nodded thoughtfully.

"And you're certain they are… reliable?" Gunn frowned at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing… I just mean… do they even know who Angel is? The only time they've really met him would be the time when you all… impaled him, am I correct?"

"He's been by a couple of more times. They know who he is." Gunn pulled his mouth into a thin line. Of course they knew who he was. 'The vamp that turned Charles Gunn from feared vampire hunter into someone that coddles the undead.'

"Let's just hope that Cordelia did better," Wesley hoped. And once again silence settled in the living room. They just sat there, their respective thoughts gnawing at them, issues tugging at them. Gunn sat in Cordelia's armchair, drumming his fingertips against the armrest, and Wesley sat in the couch.

Wesley observed that the painkillers he had taken earlier must have done their trick as he couldn't feel much from the wound in his arm anymore. Gunn noted that Wesley looked more and more annoyed for every time he smacked his fingers down, but he didn't say anything.

"For goodness, man!" Wesley called out after three minutes of straight drumming. "Stop it!"

"Someone's wound tight today," Gunn muttered, but at least he stopped. Luckily they were interrupted by Cordelia who rushed inside, closing the door behind her.

"Cordelia." Wesley turned in her direction. "Finally."

"Yeah, right," she replied between gritted teeth, hoping that the repercussions to the vision didn't show as much as they felt.

"We have trouble," she stated before anyone had time to say anything else. Wesley frowned.

"What is it?" Was the Host… did Lorne tell you anything about Angel?" Cordelia shook her head.

"No, nothing, but…"

"I'm afraid we came out… rather empty-handed as well," Wesley continued without listening to Cordelia or taking notice of her annoyed glance.

"Listen to me!" she cut off, cursing inwardly for yelling and causing the headache to stir up again. "I had a vision." Gunn and Wesley kept very silent for a few moments.

"About Angel?" Wesley asked finally in a small voice.

"Yeah." She wasn't sure how to continue. How could she tell them what the vision had told her when she wasn't sure herself?

"And what…what did you see?"

"I'm not sure," she began, "but it's bad."

"Is he Angelus?" Gunn asked straight forwardly.

"No…" Cordelia took a deep breath. "At least not… yet."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What I saw… what I felt…he's so desperate." She turned to Wesley. "I'm not sure what he's going to do, but as far as I saw; it includes spells, and the loosing of souls." Wesley swallowed hard.

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Dead sure." She thought back at the vision, and she physically shuddered when she thought about Angelus. "I wouldn't mistake Angel for Angelus, believe me." She looked carefully at Wesley. It's hard telling someone that you have foreseen their likely gruesome and horrible death. "A-and I saw something else."

Wesley didn't catch the meaning behind her expression. "Yes?"

"I saw you… and Angelus. I think he was… I mean, I'm not sure how badly hurt you were. Or even if he did it, I guess. I mean, I wouldn't know for sure, I didn't exactly see it, but there were hints… you know." Wesley turned very pale, but he managed to keep his voice steady when he answered.

"It's alright Cordelia. You had a vision about it, which means nothing is written in stone. We will stop Angel from… fulfilling his plans, and… everything will be alright. Everything."

Gunn stood behind Wesley with his arms crossed over his chest and a stern look on his face.

"So, when? You have any idea when we're dealing with the bad version?"

"Unfortunately my visions tend to be blurry, painful and not very precise." She thought about if for a second. She had worn other clothes at the hospital, in the vision, and it felt like they had time. "It hasn't happened yet though, I'm sure."

Gunn nodded shortly. "Good. Then I guess we need to come up with a good plan kinda quick, huh?"

And so they did. They sat down, and they discussed. At least they did something similar to it. Cordelia observed that Gunn's constantly recurring statement was to end Angel's life, but he never actually said it, he was just hinting. He had already agreed to help save Angel, at least as long as he had his soul and he would keep that promise.

Even if Wesley hadn't been working with the Council for a long time it was obvious that the ideas and methods they had impressed upon him still influenced him. He suggested some sort of therapy for Angel, but when Cordelia asked exactly were he planned to find a shrink that could deal with a vampire driven crazy by grief, he didn't have an answer.

When Cordelia had turned down all of their ideas, Wesley spoke up.

"Alright, hot shot," he said, "since you consider yourself qualified to shred our ideas, I suppose you have a brilliant stratagem of your own up your sleeve?" At Cordelia's uncertain look, Wesley smiled smugly.

Alright, so perhaps smiling and joking was a peculiar reaction when having just been told that he might be killed horrible in God knew how small amount of time… but what was he going to do, if not make light of it? This wasn't the time for a hysterical breakdown; the other reaction springing to mind.

"Well, I don't know... But I was thinking, what's the best and safest way to deal with Angel's problem? It's NOT to try to rehabilitate him. I mean, please. The guy is 200 years plus, Buffy was the love of his life. That's a pretty long life."

"So, what are you saying?"

"I'm thinking… wouldn't it be better if we could just… remove the reason to why he is going all crazy psycho vamp?"

Wesley looked confused. "I don't understand, do you suggest some sort of memory spell? Make him forget about Buffy altogether?"

"No! No. I mean… he wouldn't be like this if Buffy was alive, right?" She got nothing but blank looks from either of the guys.

"So, what if we could bring Buffy back?"


	18. THE WORLD'S BEST ACTOR

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_A/N: Excuse the late update. Things have been kind of hectic lately. Besides, going by the number of reviews, I was getting the impression that very few of you were actually reading... Prove me wrong and pay the review button a visit. Oh, and I'm not asking, I'm telling... m'kay?_**  
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**CHAPTER 18: THE WORLD'S BEST ACTOR**

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"Stop right here."

The limousine stopped, well hidden from the windows in Cordelia's apartment. Lindsay stepped out of the cool vehicle into the sunbathed alley.

This was going to take his best performance to be a success. Well, he had to try. He had been told to pull the trigger, and he needed the assistance of Angel's friends for it to work out. If he could keep up his act, it would work – because he was going to offer Angel's friends exactly what they needed in the time when they needed it the most.

He pulled out a pocket mirror from his suit and carefully studied his face. He had done a spell that made him look beat up – he was badly bruised, cut, and bleeding from several places. Since the wounds were only visible because of a charm he didn't hurt from them though, and they would disappear as soon as the glamour collapsed. It should give him about two hours.

To make the picture of his damaged self perfect, he ripped a few holes in his outfit – having to shred a $1200 suite was painful, but a necessity in this case. After all... victory favors those who takes pains. Lindsay took some dirt and sand from the ground and rubbed it in all over his body. Perfect. Now, if he just ran all the way up to Cordelia's front door in this blistering heat, he's be just enough sweaty and out of breath go give a good impression of someone on the run.

No time to loose. Lindsay put the mirror aside and darted away. He didn't stop until he was outside Cordelia's front door – when he reached it, he leaned against the doorframe – like someone with his injuries definitely would do – and knocked.

"Please, open the door!" he yelled, attempting to sound desperate. He heard voices inside that stopped when he knocked. Then he heard a high pitched voice speak again – that was probably Cordelia, recognizing his voice and making remarks of some kind. The door opened.

* * *

"Bring her back?" Wesley repeated dumbfounded. "Cordelia, there is no way of bringing back a dusted vampire." 

"Yes, there is! Remember Darla? Angel killed her in Sunnydale almost 4 years ago, and she came back." Wesley looked at her dubiously.

"Do you really believe in this?" Cordelia nodded enthusiastically.

"Remember that I had a vision about her in Sunnydale? Angelus sired her, which means that she was human before. They brought her back as human."

Wesley looked at her. "Even if so, bringing back a slain vampire would most probably rupture the whole balance of the world. To, to rip open the gates of eternity and pull the long dead person's soul out of it… Buffy's soul was one with the demon when she died, that would make it even harder I suspect. There's chance, a good chance, that performing such a ritual would open up a door that we won't be able to close."

"Oh come on, Wesley! It's already been done one time, why wouldn't it work again?"

"We have no idea what the cost was that time! Wolfram & Hart wouldn't fear any kind of sacrifice, we however, I hope, still have enough moral left not to sink to their level."

"Morals, schmorals," Cordelia snorted. "Come on, what's the worst that could happen?" Wesley frowned at her.

"Well, that depends – do you mean _except_ for hell on earth, rupture between good and evil, a state of disequilibrium between the nature elements, activating every single mystical hot-spot there is in the world?"

"Yeah," she said simply. "Except for that."

"Are you actually willing to risk it?" Wesley asked her.

"If… if it would save Angel." Cordelia's words surprised even herself. She was mad at Angel; for how he had acted and what he had done to them, and still she wanted desperately to save him, bring him back to them. Wow – either he must be a really good friend, or maybe she was going insane. Yeah. Maybe her painful visions had killed the petty part of her mind.

"Wait a minute," Gunn cut in. "What if we actually found a way to do this, and it failed? Wouldn't that drive Angel even further off?"

"We wouldn't have to tell him before we knew that it worked."

"Hold on," Wesley objected. "I don't have the knowledge to do this. I fear it calls on dark magic's that I don't have nearly enough experience to deal with, and we definitely can't involve Mr. Giles or Willow in this. We don't have the resources to do it."

"What if we managed to persuade Wolfram & Hart into helping us?" Cordelia said smiling. Wesley shrugged.

"Why on earth would they?"

"Because, well, Angel has already thrashed the Council and everyone in it. Doesn't take a genius to understand that they might be next, and those guy's don't like to be killed."

"So what, we just slip on our suites and go over to the evil law firm on a nice business meeting to discuss making a deal with them? I got two words for that – nuh, and uh," Gunn said. Cordelia glared at him.

"I think your name and 'stubborn' are synonyms," she muttered.

Before Gunn had time do deliver a snide comeback, they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Do you expect someone?" Wesley asked. Cordelia shook her head, a thoughtful frown on her face.

"No, who would I expect? Not like I have any friends left," she muttered, barely avoiding the bitterness in her voice to shine through. Wesley looked at her.

"Why, thank you," he said dryly, and she shot him a look, rolling her eyes.

"Well, you two don't count – that is of course, unless it happens to be your doppelgangers out there, pounding on my front door."

"Please, open the door!" they heard a familiar voice from outside.

"Lindsay?" Cordelia said. "Hmm."

"What business could he possibly have here?" Wesley mused, somewhat bewildered.

Gunn scowled. He didn't like this. Not that he knew much about the lawyer guy, but he damn well knew enough to know that this couldn't be good…. Could it?

"Maybe Mr. Change of Heart found the Lord and became a believer in redemption," Cordelia mocked with a smirk as she went over to the door. She had no idea, and frankly hadn't given it a second's thought, what she might see when she opened the door… and even though maybe it should have surprised her to see him slumped against the door frame, bleeding and panting... it really didn't.

She stared blankly at him for a second before she spoke.

"Oh look, it's our favorite betraying weasel," Cordelia said dryly. "What are you doing here?" He didn't answer her. He opened his mouth as if to say anything, but instead he put his hand to his side, his face crumbling in pain.

"What have you done?" Cordelia asked, just a touch less confident when seeing that he really seemed to be in pain. "Did you mud wrestle with Mrs. Thompson's Chihuahua before you came here, or what?"

"I… I need you help." He wiped a little blood from his lip, smearing it over his cheek. He saw Cordelia's gaze trace over him, and even though her stance was defensive and her eyes hard, she was clearly trying to figure out what had happened to him. Still, this was going to take his best performance all the way through to work out as he had planned.

"Sorry, but Angel Investigations has a strict policy to, oh say, _not_ help evil layers with hell beast slaying. I'm sure your firm has the resources to dispose of whatever shoved you into that meat grinder."

"It was…" Lindsay started to cough and clutched his side for emphasis. "It was Angel," he finished in a strained voice, grimacing.

Just as Lindsay had predicted, that stiffened the do-gooders. Cordelia didn't say anything, but her eyes widened. Wesley got up from the chair he was sitting in and Gunn furrowed his brow. His face pulled into a grim expression.

"Can I come in?" Lindsay asked weakly. Cordelia was still silent, but she moved to the side just enough for him to get in. Now, while she wasn't sure what she had expected him to say, that wasn't on the list. Maybe it was silly of her – after all, it was the Good Angel, if that was the right way to put it, who had chopped of Lindsay's hand once upon a time. Seeing that, it wasn't very far fetched that he might be able to… do this, in his current state of mind.

Lindsay stepped inside and carefully sat down in the couch. He winced as he leaned back.

Cordelia crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him expectantly.

"So?" she said.

"So, what?" Lindsay said, trying to seem as if he was in so much pain that he didn't understand what she wanted him to do.

"So, explain! You can't just come waltzing… or limping, in here and accuse Angel for trying to make a hamburger out of you. Now shoot, or you're going back out that door." She pointed her finger for emphasis.

They were cautious. Suspicious. No one was making a move to offer him bandages or even a glass of water. Lindsay nodded slightly.

"I guess you know what has been going on with him lately," he began slowly. He was careful not to sound too confident or forceful.

"You mean being a total loom, killing people he doesn't like, teaming up with his old flame Crazilla? Oh, yeah, we got the memo."

"Then you know what he did in England… and now he's planning a repeat performance here in L.A. He's going to take down Wolfram & Hart." Lindsay studied the stony faces in front of him. They were tough, he had to give them that. He would have expected at least Cordelia to soften when she saw that he was hurt. And she was anything but soft right now. She looked straightly at him.

"Okay. Was that all? Because, if you're not here to hand over the invitations to the celebration that undoubtedly will be held afterwards, we don't have anything else to talk about," she said coldly, and there was no doubt in Lindsay's mind that she was absolutely serious.

"You don't understand." Lindsay loosened his tie and unbuttoned the uppermost button – revealing a deep cut almost reaching his throat. He saw that Gunn's gaze settled on it. Lindsay would have figured the black man to be a flunkey at first – a no-brained street muscle, but when researching him he had found him to be the former leader of a well organized vampire hunting gang. He didn't have the same soft spot for Angel as the others – which meant that he might very well be the one to use and affect here.

"He's not gonna take down just the firm," Lindsay said, piece by piece presenting his carefully laid out lie to them. "He'll try to wipe everything related to Wolfram & Hart off the face of the earth. And maybe the earth will go, too."

"What do you mean?" Wesley asked calmly, although his eyes revealed that he was anything but.

"I mean, he's gone completely off his rocker on this one," Lindsay said. Cordelia snorted.

"He's not the only one," she shot back.

"He stalked one of our lawyers and killed her husband and son a few days ago," Lindsay explained. It was true – in a way. The Senior Partners had taken and killed the hubby and kid of one of the lawyers on the way up. Everything was on file – he even had pictures of the bodies, if they didn't believe his word. Angel-less Investigations wouldn't know that it wasn't their former boss that was responsible for their deaths anyway.

"He has pursued and threatened several people. Innocent people." Cordelia frowned at that.

"Stop, wait; remind me again how employee's of the good old W&H – people like _you_ – can ever be innocent?" Lindsay chuckled a little but quickly interrupted himself as if it pained him to do so.

"Not people like me. The little people – everyone working down below. He's not just going for the big guys… he wants to destroy us all. From janitors to little kids that have a connection to the firm."

"While this is… well, I suppose horrible," Wesley frowned, "exactly how does it classify as world in peril?"

"When he's wiped out as much as he can on this plane, he's going to seek the Senior Partners and try to take them on. If he succeeds, he'll probably rupture the balance of the whole world in the process."

"By killing the greatest evils of all the evils that ever… didn't… walk the earth? 'Cause last time I checked, that was actually his mission; killing bad things," Cordelia stated.

"The Senior Partners aren't separate entities; they're not some band of ascended demons that hang out in another dimension, having fun by watching what goes on here. They're – they're so much _more_ than that."

"Gee, I think I might cry," Cordelia said dryly.

"They've been around since the beginning of time," Lindsay continued, ignoring her snide expression. "They were here when the first caveman clubbed his neighbor, and I assure you, they will be here when it all ends."

"What ends?"

"The world. The Apocalypse." The way he said that, with such reverence, as if he was proud over it, sent chills down Cordelia's spine.

"Apocalypses," she muttered under her breath. "Big whoop. I lived through at least two of those per year in High School."

"Those were ever destined to succeed," Lindsay said calmly. "I'm not talking about psychotic vampires with rock figures or pet incinerator-lackeys, or giant snakes or any of that. I'm talking about _the_ Apocalypse." Cordelia blinked and stared at him.

"Oh. That one. So, now you've spent the last few minutes as promoting your beloved senior partners as big apocalypse fans. Again… why would it be bad from our point of view if Angel kills them?"

"The Senior Partners… you need them too. " Cordelia snorted.

"Oh yeah? And how is that?"

"What they are and what they mean – that exists in everyone. Every single human being has it in them."

"Has what in them, a piece of the senior partners?"

"Evil. There is evil everywhere. In you three, the kid next door, Mrs. Thompson's Chihuahua… Everyone. And no matter what do-gooders like you want to think – the world works because of it. The world doesn't work in spite of evil, see. It works _with_ us. Take that away from everyone, what do you think'll happen? It's not gonna be all candy corn and happy-fun land, I can promise you that much."

"I don't know," Cordelia muttered. "I don't know why we should believe that."

"I think he might be right… about that," Wesley mused. "Taking away the impulse of evil, ripping it out of everyone… that in itself might bring forth horrible destruction."

"World begone kind of destruction?" Wes shrugged.

"Perhaps." Cordelia swallowed hard.

Lindsay had to struggle to maintain his expression. When he saw how all three of his listeners practically ate his story with a spoon, a smug smirk was lurking right under the surface. Gunn, however, was still looking suspicious.

"Do we believe this?" he said, looking at Wesley and Cordelia.

"Wouldn't be the first time he's had it in for the world ending," Cordelia said silently. It was an unpleasant notion. She had just wrapped her head around the fact that Angel, with his soul intact, would blow up a building and kill 50 or so people in the process. She wasn't ready for the idea of him possibly planning another apocalypse – even if it was indirectly, just because he felt so bad.

"Say you're right," Cordelia said finally, looking at Lindsay. "How do we believe you? You ARE evil after all."

"I thought you might want proof," Lindsay said, glad that he had followed his instincts and brought the pictures taken before the cleanup guys had decontaminated the apartment Wallace Green had resided in. No one that hadn't met him before could tell that he was a Council member. He pulled out the envelope with the pictures from his inner pocket and handed it to Cordelia. She opened it and pulled out the pictures.

"Dear god," Wesley said. Gunn made a grimace and shook his head and Cordelia stared at the pictures with disgust.

"That is what he did to one of our lawyers. Just a worker, not responsible for any of the big events." If they held any doubt that it actually was Angel that had done it, that was probably extinguished when they saw the close up picture of Wallace's face. On the left cheek a cross was carved into the flesh.

"What the hell?" Gunn said. He hadn't been around the last time they dealt with a cheek carving murderer – it had been Penn and not Angel that time, but no one needed to remind Wesley and Cordelia who had taught the short ex-puritan what a blast artistic killing could be.

"Yeah, the mark," Lindsay groaned, leaning backwards as if in pain. "What is that?" He looked at Wesley. Of course he already knew. He damn well should. The cross had been placed there on his order, after hours of research, a whole afternoon of trying to understand that crazy Files-and-Records woman and flipping through books. At last he had found what he was looking for – a trademark of Angelus'. Something that he had used back in the day to show people that he had been there.

"It's, um…" Wesley frowned. "The mark was used by Angelus… and at least one of his early descendants. He spread terror over Ireland in the end of the 18th century by placing that mark on the cheek of all his victims." Lindsay nodded, as if trying to comprehend.

"What is that?" Gunn pointed at one of the pictures. It was a message written in blood on the wall, but it wasn't possible to read it from the photo.

"Yeah," Lindsay said. "A message, written on the wall above the body." He gave them a note. "This is what it said, no one knows what it means though." He swallowed and studied them. Their translators were the best – and if they found something that they couldn't understand, others would be summoned or called in to figure it out. He was just hoping that they didn't know that. And, he was hoping that no one would pull out a magnifying glass and realize that the text on the photograph and on the piece of paper didn't match. Hoping and betting, that was what he was relying on. Well, that, and his flawless acting skills, of course.

Wesley furrowed his brow and looked at the note.

"Wesley? What is it?" Cordelia looked over his shoulder and frowned.

"Whoa, what is that? Like, Russian or something?"

"No… no. It's Gaelic."

"Gaelic? Like, old Irish people's language? It says, hmm, ah… How can anyone pronounce that?" Cordelia muttered. "Do you know what it means?"

"Yes… at least I think my Gaelic is good enough. Roughly translated it means... 'Retribution by death… for all'." Cordelia swallowed hard. Gunn pulled his mouth into a thin, angry line.

Lindsay studied the three of them carefully. Were they buying it? He counted the seconds of perfect stillness silently in his head. One, two, three, four, five…

"That… That's not good, right?" Cordelia said finally.

Wesley shook his head. What this might mean, he didn't even want to think about. At least not until someone came up with a plan to stop Angel from whatever he was planning. He looked dubiously at Lindsay. Was _he_ the one? The one to get them out of their maelstrom, to swoop in, give the instructions, save the day? Wesley felt a sting of bitterness. Wasn't that _his_ job?

"So," Cordelia steadied her voice and looked at Lindsay. "You said you need our help. Safe to say it has something to do with this. So, straight up, what is it you want?"


	19. AMAT VICTORIA CURAM

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**CHAPTER 19: AMAT VICTORIA CURAM**

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_Angel walked slowly down the beach. Waves were curling and crashing on the sand, and in the far distance a pier stretched out into the water. He had walked this beach before, passed it even more times. But this was different. He walked all the way down to the water, standing there, feeling the waves curl around his feet and coolness of the water around his ankles._

_He felt the warmth of the evening sunlight on his face and chest. It warmed him – it didn't burn him. It shouldn't be like that. He looked down at his shirt. It was beige. Did he even own a beige shirt? Everything was wrong, and yet it felt so right. Like he shouldn't question it. _

_He felt a strong tingle, almost a shudder, of recognition and delight. He turned around slowly, already knowing who he would see there, but still not daring to believe it. He never dared to believe it. It was as if taking her presence for granted would make her illusion disappear instantly… like she was only there because he wished so hard for her to be._

_She stood there, maybe 20 feet away. She was wearing a pink dress with purple pattern and she looked so peaceful, striding towards him, her feet sinking a little in the damp sand. He went to meet her._

"_How did you find me here?" he asked. She smiled at him._

"_It's the other way around. You never let me stay lost… You find me, that's the deal."_

"_I don't know about that," Angel murmured, looking away._

"_It's true," she said simply._

"_How can I find someone, when I'm so lost myself?" he asked her, but she didn't answer him. She turned away and walked over to a clump of trees several yards away. _

"_It's nice here," she said absently when he walked up beside her._

"_But how can I be here?" he asked her, indicating the sun._

"_Of course you can. It's my paradise, remember. What kind of place would that be, if you couldn't be here?" He looked away._

"_I don't deserve to be here," he said shortly._

"_Why?" She turned him around; her hands touching him so gently and lightly, but they still made his skin hum and warm with the sensation._

"_Because of what I've done. I've killed people…I feel like I've lost myself. Lost my way." _

"_I've felt that too, once or twice," Buffy said calmly, seemingly unfazed by his anxiety. He stared at her hair, how it glistered in the sunlight, how healthy she looked now that her skin was sunbathed and… and alive again. She looked at him, warm, green, soulful eyes meeting his darker. She took his hands in hers._

"_But you never used blood vengeance as a way to dull the pain," he stated, but she ignored it._

"_Everyone gets lost," she said. "That's okay… but sooner or later you have to find yourself again. You can't go on like this forever." _

"_Forever," he repeated. "That's the whole point." He frowned to himself. He wasn't sure why those words felt so familiar. _

"_And what if I can't?" he asked simply._

"_If you can't, someone will force you to. You don't want that. Find yourself on your own… or it will go badly for all of us." Her eyes were still soft and full of love and life, but her words didn't make much sense._

_"What?" he asked, confused. _

"_Don't do it. Don't go with him. She knows. She's dangerous and unpredictable and crazy, but she knows. It will seem so right, but it will end so badly. Pay attention, stay on guard, and don't let go. You can't." _

_Angel was truly bewildered. What the hell did she mean? For the first time he fully understood how Buffy must have felt when he kept popping in and out of her life with cryptic warnings that she didn't understand. Just like he felt now._

"_What is it I can't do?" Instead of answering him, she laughed. Not a soft, nice laugh. A hard, scoffing chuckle. She half-grinned at him and her eyes had quickly gone darker and colder. Harder. _

"_History repeats itself," she said coldly. "You won't even see it coming." She tightened her grip around his hands and tried to pull him against her. He pulled back, desperate to avoid whatever she was about to do to him. She kicked him once and aimed for him again, but he avoided her foot. Her grip around his hands was still iron hard. The weather changed as they stood there, tugging at each other, dark clouds gathered over them and he could hear thunder. _

"_No use fighting it," she hissed. "This is how it ends. This is how it will always end." She yanked one last time, and he pulled back with all his strength, frustrated by her words. There was a loud bang, and everything went dark for a second. The sky seemed to open and ice cold rain came pouring down over him._

_A moment later, he fell to his knees in the wet sand, holding her lifeless, pale body in his arms. There was blood on her throat. He could feel her blood all over and inside him. It was everywhere. He stared at her dead body in shock and fear for a few seconds before pushing her away, practically jumping backwards and onto his feet._

"_No," he said, feeling dread slowly consume him. Not again. "No. No!"_

_Buffy's body opened her eyes and stared at him. Her eyes were bloodshot and teary and her lips almost as pale as the rest of her skin when she spoke again._

"_My memory will fade… but **he** never will." _

Angel jolted out of his sleep and sat up in bed. For a few moments he had no idea where and when he was, who he was and what time it was. Slowly reality washed back over him. He looked around in the dark room, his bedroom at the Hyperion. Drusilla was sleeping next to him, her skinny body completely still under the covers. The light from the draped window told him that it was day outside, and a quick glance at the clock confirmed it.

He had dreamt of her. Again. The dreams varied, but they had usually to do with where she was now, or the guilt he felt over not being able to save her. This one had been new, though. He tried to recall everything, every gesture and every word. This wasn't an ordinary dream. This was a warning, he was sure of it. But exactly what was the warning?

He put his hands to his head and sighed deeply. This was killing him. Not literally, unfortunately.

All the feelings, the guilt, the dreams… he couldn't take it. Not anymore. The guilt had meant something when she was here. It was as if… the guilt he felt for hurting her, and so many others, was the price he had to pay to be around her, to have his new life where he actually did good… _meant_ something. Something else than pain and ugly death for everyone who got in his way. But now… exactly what good were these feelings to him? What good did his soul do when he didn't put it to any use?

He had to end this. The question was how. He looked darkly at the sleeping form of his childe next to him. If he had the guts and the determination and the strength, he would stake her in her sleep, go back to his old friends and beg for forgiveness. There was much doubt that they would care after what he had done, let alone take him back, but he should try.

And maybe he actually would do that… If he wasn't so damn proud. And a coward. It had always been like that, and it always would be, he thought darkly. Forever.

After all, that was the whole point.

* * *

"So, straight up, what is it you want?" 

Lindsay took his time to answer. He swallowed and cleared his throat. He let his fingers run up and down a bruise on his arm that was partly visible through the shredded sleeve. Things were going well. Very well. To think that Lilah had been skeptic. She hadn't thought that they would even let him in the door. Well, he had proved her wrong before, and he would do so again.

"Well," Lindsay began, pushing back a smile, "in my opinion, there are two possible ways to stop Angel before he takes this thing further. The first is killing him. The second one is to take away the reason for all of this. The Council killed his girlfriend, right? As you may already know, Wolfram & Hart does have the resources to bring back a slain vampire."

"We know, we met Darla version 2.0, remember," Cordelia said dryly. "And still I ask, what do you want? And why do you want to help Angel?"

"I don't," Lindsay said, thinking that his choice in words might be less than perfect.

Cordelia crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, but still, it was the only way he could make his story believable. No one would believe that he had woken up one day and realized that his mission and truest desire was to help and protect the vampire with a soul… no. He needed to state that he was doing this solely to save his own skin, just like they would assume.

"I don't want to die by his hand," he said sternly. "He nearly got me today, but I escaped into the sunlight before he could finish it. He's out for blood, and he's not the one to just let things go." He could see it in their faces that they knew he was right. "Therefore, I'm offering you a deal. The resources, one might say, to use however you please to try and save Angel by giving him the thing he needs."

"And what is that?" Wesley asked.

"Buffy."

"Yeah, Buster, that one we had figured out," Cordelia sighed. "Why do you need us to do it? You people – and otherwise – are the… _experts_, after all."

"Buffy will need to be with people that care about her and can care for her in the beginning. The resurrected person is pretty weak the first few weeks. Besides, what do you think the Senior Partners would think if the firm performed a ritual meant to help Angel back to his stable, stuck-up self? They _want_ him like this." Cordelia raised her eyebrows.

"And if they want him like this, why don't you?"

"Like I said, I prefer my skin where and as it is; attached. The Senior Partners aren't on this plane. They don't realize what their plans end up in, sometimes."

It bothered and bewildered Cordelia that Lindsay at that point seemed so down to earth, so innocent… like a decent guy; and she knew that he had a whole different side as well. He had already chosen his beloved firm over a life of his own once, and she didn't think for a second that he had just thrown that to the wind. So what was he up to?

She studied his wounds, the drying blood on his face; the gash close to his jugular vein… maybe Angel had given him multiple concussions while pummeling him. She shuddered at that thought, at the thought of Angel abuse someone nearly to death just because he was in pain and thought he made himself feel better by killing people. She didn't want to imagine that, imagine him so… weak. So easy to break. That wasn't the Angel she knew, that had stood by her for over a year; saved her life, defended her honor… He was _Angel_.

"To the observant mind it would seem as if you are offering exactly what we need, just at the time that we really need it," Wesley stated. "Explain why we should trust you."

"Because, as it looks right now, it's game over for the firm," Lindsay said with a dramatic gesture that he pretended pained him.

"In the state of mind he is right now, he could bring us down." He considered whether he really believed that himself. Did he think that Angel, in any state of mind, would be able to take them all down? If he wasn't acting wounded and desperate, he would chuckle to himself. Hell, yeah, maybe. The Scourge-nickname couldn't be served without reason. With enough determination… and enough dynamite, he might be able to pull it off.

"And then?" Wesley encouraged him to continue.

"And then, exactly how powerful do you think he'll be after that? There will be no reconciling with him, I can promise you that much. Do you think a vampire like Angelus would settle for wiping out the people he doesn't like? That he would stop at that? We're talking about the guy who tried to suck the world into hell, right? How are you gonna stop him if he's heading for another apocalypse when the smoke has cleared over the firm? This time he will have his soul intact, which means that there will be no magic ritual to bring back the hero and stop the big bad."

"A vampire like Angelus," Cordelia repeated. "Yeah, but _Angel _wouldn't do that," Cordelia objected. "Not when he has his soul." She fell silent, looking a little insecure when she glanced at Wes and Gunn. "Right?"

"I don't know," Wesley said silently. "I don't know what he might do… or who he is right now."

And Lindsay sat silent again, waiting for them to come to the only decision they reasonably could. After all, it wasn't like they were going to get a better offer from anyone else.

"Okay," Cordelia said reluctantly after a long while. "We'll do it… try it, if you give us what we need." Lindsay exhaled a breath that he realized that he had been holding since Wesley last spoke.

"Of course. You'll need five vampires to begin with."

"Five vamps? Why?" Gunn asked.

"To resurrect a deceased vampire, you need to offer a sacrifice. That's the way the spell works. You'll also need the scroll of Aberjian… which I believe you already have." Lindsay looked at Cordelia who gave a short nod. So, that was a sensitive subject. Well, out of the two of them, who had gotten their hand chopped off for that piece of paper? Women. Can't live with them – can't give them a one way ticket to The World With Nothing But Shrimp.

"While one of you performs the spell, someone will have to chant in the background. We had monks for that, but it's not necessary. You'll need the sacred box we used for Darla… I can probably… smuggle it out of the firm." Yeah, right. One phone call from him and there would be men ready to load the box and transport it anywhere. Oh, how he liked to be evil.

"The ritual has to be performed on sacred ground," he concluded.

"Such as?" Wesley asked.

"Any church, mausoleum, even cemetery you can think of.

"There is a cemetery just a few blocks from here," Cordelia said, "and it has a big mausoleum. We could use that. I guess we'll have to take her back here after… well, after." Cordelia swallowed. It was hard to come to terms with the fact that if this succeeded, they would have Buffy back; alive again. Lindsay nodded.

"Good. Well, I guess that's all."

"That's it?" Cordelia repeated, frowning. "Gee, I would have thought bringing back a dusted vampire would require more – opening of gates to hell, human sacrifice, almost destroying the world in the process, yada, yada, yada…" She looked over at Wesley who looked away without saying anything. Lndsay studied them silently.

"I'll go back to the firm and make sure that everything you need is delivered here," Lindsay continued after a quick glance at the watch. He couldn't risk staying here too long. It wasn't even an hour left of his spell. Cordelia looked at him, gave a short nod and turned back to Wesley and Gunn, marking that the conversation was over. Lindsay held his hip and limped out the door.

When Cordelia was sure that Lindsay was gone, she spoke.

"What if he's lying?" Cordelia asked; the obvious question.

"What if he's not?" Wesley replied. Cordelia frowned.

"I asked first," she muttered.

"What about his wounds, how do you explain that?" Gunn cut in.

"What if he's not lying…" Wesley repeated. "Can we really afford to take the chance, to bargain on it?"

"Let's all just stop a moment and look at the facts here. He's evil. His firm is evil. Everything he does is evil. Why_ should_ he tell us the truth?"

"Am I the only one who actually saw the wounds?" Gunn repeated.

"Lindsay got his hand cut off while trying to make sure that I would die from never-ending visions. I think he's got the pain-thing down already," Cordelia argued. "If he wants to maneuver us into doing something, he's got a reason for it, I'm telling you."

"Perhaps so," Wesley said thoughtfully. "While I do agree with you… the thing he wants seems to be the exact same thing you wanted an hour ago."

"So?"

"So, what's to say we can't use his – good will… or possibly bad intentions, for our own winning?"

"You're saying what?"

"Use his own game against him. Whatever he might want to do with Buffy, however he might want to use her to get to Angel, we won't let him do that. If this works, and if we can get Angel to come here and see that Buffy is back… perhaps everything will be as it should. Hopefully he will come to reason and calm down, and whatever Wolfram & Hart wants to do with him, they won't be able to."

"It's risky, I'm telling you," Gunn said after a moment's silence.

"It is," Wesley agreed shrugging slightly. "And therefore, you are of course welcome to present some alternatives, risk-free and waterproof." He looked Gunn in the eyes, and the two men stared at each other for a few moments.

"Alright," Gunn said finally, turning away from Wesley, a little uncomfortable under his unusually cold gaze. "Alright, I get it." Wesley nodded and turned away.

"Just one thing," Gunn continued. Wesley stopped, but didn't turn back to Gunn.

"What's that, Charles?"

"What do we do if it doesn't work? If we get Buffy back, and it doesn't help? What if he's too far gone already?"

"Then we'll have to deal with it," Wes said darkly, and there was no doubt in anyone's mind what he meant.

* * *

_A/N: I've seen a few different translations to the Latin phrase that gave this chapter its name. "Victory favors those who takes pains", "Victory takes careful preparation", "Victory loves diligence" or simply "Victory loves effort". Either way, it's fitting. _

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	20. A SOLEMN EVENING

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_A/N: As usual, thank you for reviewing. Every single review is appreciated! And of course I won't abandon my story. I've put way too much work into it, and I'm having way too much fun writing it just to give it up now. :-)_**

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**CHAPTER 16: A SOLEMN EVENING**

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"I just think it's funny – all I'm saying."

Gunn smothered a sigh. This was a bad idea. He should have known that it was. What had he been thinking?

While Gunn, Rondell and George were patrolling the rain soaked streets for unsuspecting vampires, destined for death by resurrection ritual. Cordelia and Wes were currently heading down to the old mausoleum were they were supposed to… well, do _it_. Okay, that sounded wrong in all imaginable ways. But still. What they were going to do there… what it meant… and what the outcome might be… it was so wrong. All wrong.

Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was just right. Buffy hadn't even been 20 years old when Angelus turned her. That was no way to die. Even for a Slayer, it wasn't really an honorable way to go out. Giving her another chance might be against all nature's law, but it was fair, wasn't it? She had put herself on the line for others for years, it was just right that "others" would give her a little back. If this worked out, Buffy would have another chance at her fairytale ending. She and Angel could live happily ever after.

Or live happily until Buffy croaked the next time, killed by one thing or another.

Gunn found himself bitter. It was stupid of him, really. He had no right to be bitter… but still, he just couldn't wrap his head around the fact that he was putting up, making sacrifices, risking his life and limb, not to mention using his old friends who surely had better things to do, to try to save Angel and bring back Buffy from the great beyond. Buffy, a girl he barely knew. Angel, a guy… a _vampire_, who had thrown them out, turned his back and shut them out. Who had been there or him when his sister was killed? No, when his sister was turned and he killed her? Who had helped him?

"What's funny?" Gunn asked, avoiding to look at Rondell.

"This whole thing. Us and you. Mean, going by your speech just hours ago, would have thought that you didn't need our help no more."

"Never said that," Gunn muttered.

Okay, sure. They didn't do this to help Angel… that was just the outcome, hopefully. They were doing it to stop a possible apocalypse. Yeah, he got that. He understood it. But still – it bothered him that everyone seemed so shocked when the final, definite solution was brought to discussion. Angel was a vampire, after all. Not some damn Messiah of any kind.

"Right, sure. So tell me again, what are we doing here? What's the big mission?"

"Five vamps." He waved his tranquilizer gun for emphasis. "You distract 'em and I'll shoot 'em. Simple as that. We load them onto the truck and go back to the mausoleum."

"Right, see, I get that much. But why? What is the point of this ritual?"

"To save Angel," Gunn replied mechanically

"To 'save Angel'? To make him all nice-guy again?" George cut in, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"To stop him from…" Gunn cut himself off. No, he definitely didn't need to tell them what Angel might be about do to. "To make him who he used to be again."

"Uh-huh." Rondell shook his head.

"Still can't se why we don't just stake the bastard. It's a vamp, Gunn. Just another set of teeth. Why is this so important to you?"

"Angel's different, you already know that. He's got a soul… that gives him the right to a second chance." Rondell looked at him.

"Isn't more like a tenth chance by now?"

"It's not. It's… hard to explain. Point is, the guy's done a lot of good. You can't just kill him because there is a problem." Gunn frowned to himself, and he could see that his words hadn't done much to convince Rondell and George. It was hard to convince them when deep down, he almost agreed with them. Angel had gone too far this time. Simple as that. But he wouldn't betray Cordelia and Wesley. He was better than that.

"So he's not _really_ dangerous?" George asked.

"He's… well, I don't think so." Truth to be told, he wasn't sure at all. Very clearly Angel didn't have much against pounding on humans anymore, and going by what the lawyer-guy had told them, it might be much worse than they had thought.

"Then I just got one more question for you. How come you brought us on this holier-than-thou salvage mission?"

Yeah, how come? He wasn't sure. Maybe he had thought – been stupid enough to think that he could combine his two lives – life as a part of Angel-Without-the-Angel Investigations and life as an important part of their gang. He had been with them there since the beginning, when they were only a few homeless kids trying to survive… and he had abandoned all that. Something he couldn't get over.

"Let's just do this, alright?" Gunn muttered. "There is a fledgling nest just a few blocks from here. We should be able to get all we need from there."

* * *

"It's a grand night. The stars are aligned and the dinner table is all prepared. Can I have one, daddy?" 

Angel sighed. He wondered why had followed her outside in the first place. It was easier to take her outside, exorcise her in a way, than to keep her under control inside. But he should have known better than to take her here. To get to the park they had to pass the coach stop, which was overloaded with arriving tourists that were running around like confused chickens with their piles of luggage just to get out of the rain. He held her left wrist in a tight grip, ready to pull or snap if she tried to hurt someone.

Why was that? Because of his soul, of course. No matter how low he had sunk, he couldn't let go completely. He couldn't kill innocent people without a second thought… and he couldn't let her do it either. She must know that, so why did she stick around? She hated him this way, just like he… his soulless self did.

Tonight she had been going on tirelessly about what a special night it was. Not much of it made any sense. Maybe he should just take her home. He could lock her up. Locking her up was good. It gave him time to wallow in his own despair, and it kept her occupied since she was convinced it was a game he played with her.

God, what a pathetic lowlife he had become.

Two adolescent boys nearly bumped into him when they passed them, laughing and talking loudly. Whatever would have happened to them if they had bumped in to him, say a little over a hundred years ago? Angel pondered that thought and glanced after the boys. They had no idea that they had just passed the cruelest mass murderer they would ever meet.

If he had been soulless now, he would in this instant consider whether the young men were interesting enough to spend the evening slowly squeezing the life out of. Without the weight of the soul he would have decided that if nothing more, at least they would do fine as a meal. No remorse, no second thoughts. Just pain, and pleasure... so much destruction. Sometimes he missed that clarity.

He shook his head. This was ridiculous. That clarity was gone, and there was no use pretending anything else. He grabbed Drusilla by the arm and pulled her away.

"Daddy, daddy, daddy dearest," Drusilla crooned. Angel let go of her arm, now that there were no people close to them and stuck the hands in his pockets, fighting down the urge do twist her head off. When he motioned for her to pass the street to get back to the Hyperion, she stopped and looked at him.

"Not that way. This way. This way is better," she said in a chillingly sweet voice and an innocent smile shining in his direction. That voice had lured hundreds of street urchins to come with her, hundreds of men to follow her into an alley or a dead end. It didn't fool him, though. He knew that voice – he should, after all he had helped her develop it. He frowned angrily.

"Why?" he said in a dark voice. "Where are we going?" He still remembered one time in Drusilla's early vampire days when she had told him to follow her to a "little nest of fluffy kiddies" and they had ended up in a poultry-house on a farm outside London…Of course they had made a meal of the farmer and his family, but still, it wasn't quite what he had expected. Following where Drusilla led was usually risky business, he knew that.

"Maps have been burned. All directions are tangled we are heading forward to get backwards," Drusilla said absently. Angel nodded slowly and suddenly felt very tired.

Right. Not one of her better nights, then.

* * *

Wesley swallowed hard and let his gaze roam over the wide stone door. He clutched the scroll of Aberjian, rolled it between his hands and finally put it away, hid it in his inside pocket to keep if from getting wet. A lot depended upon that scroll. Possibly the world. 

"This is it?" he asked.

"Yeah, this is it." Even Cordelia was unusually quiet this evening. She pulled her jacket tighter around herself. It had been unbearably hot the entire day, and just at they went outside to head over to the mausoleum it had started raining. It wasn't pouring down in any way, but it was that kind of rain that made every piece of ones clothing completely soaked within just a few minutes.

Everything was damp, and the world they would – hopefully – bring Buffy back into tonight would be cold and dank and unfriendly. That was of course _if_ everything worked out as it should. Which it might very well not do. After all, if a thing seems too good to be true…

"Shall we then?" Wesley suggested hesitantly and grabbed the doorknob. The stone door was easier to open than one would have suspected, luckily. Probably because Lindsay, or was it Lindsay and his men, had been there recently and unloaded the box…

The box, was that the right word for it?

He circled it. It was a large, wooden crate with bars running along the top. It was standing in a pentagram that seemed very newly painted, and five sets of chains were resting on top of the box, ready for the vampires that Gunn would bring them, hopefully.

"It looks... ah, I mean…" Wesley began.

"Like something you would transport a rabid dog in," Cordelia suggested. "Not something that will…you know, actually bring back a dead vampire if you say the right words close to it."

"Something like that," Wesley murmured. He could only hope that Lindsay had been as true an honest as he had seemed. That this really was the container that had brought Darla back to life. But they couldn't be sure, now, could they? The only one unrelated to Wolfram & Hart that had seen it was – unavailable.

Cordelia bent over and felt the paint on the floor.

"Still wet," she commented, glancing at her watch. Couldn't they come back soon? She just hoped that everything was going well. It was easy sometimes to forget that even a run-of-the-mill fledgling vampire is a deadly, vicious demon. Catching five of them, without getting to kill them was a risk, no question about it. Hopefully Gunn had brought his friends just like he had said that he might.

"Do you think it will work?" she said to break the uncomfortable silence.

"I have no idea," Wesley answered honestly.

"Gee, that's comforting," Cordelia muttered. And the fact that we're doing this for a crazy vampire that doesn't even want us in his eternal life gives this whole thing that extra pinkish glow." She sighed.

"Having second thoughts?" Wesley looked at her. She waved her hand dismissively.

"No, no… it's just… no."

"We could still back out, I suppose."

"No, we can't. Saving the world by saving Angel, remember?" Cordelia took a few steps closer to the box, gave it a suspicious look and finally leaned against it. Wesley looked at her.

"Should you really be doing that?"

"Why not? It's a wooden box Wesley, not crystal. Besides, I'm tired, and there's really not anything resembling a chair in here, you know."

Cordelia touched her temple and quickly regretted her move. She had almost forgotten what it was like to do something without a headache – no matter if it was a throbbing, skull-crushing, move-and-you-will-puke kind of pain or just a dull sensation in the back of her head, it was nearly always there nowadays. Of course, Wesley had no idea. No one had.

"Perhaps we should go through the ritual again, one last time," Wesley said nervously and fiddled with his jacket to get the scroll out again.

"I know the drill; you went over it in the car on the way here. Twice. We lock the vampires in their chains. I say something about gathering the dead, or whatever. You bore us to death with explanations of what the five vampires are and I confirm it…"

"And how do you do that?" She frowned at him.

"Well. 'Yet they walk'?"

"'Yet they live'! Cordelia, please, this is important."

"I know, I know. Then you chant in Latin, right? And then what?"

"After that the vampires are supposed to disintegrate into dust, and the box… this container here, will use their energy to resurrect Buffy."

"How does it know that?" Wesley shook his head.

"How does what know… what?"

"The box. How does it know that it's supposed to resurrect _Buffy_, I mean Buffy specifically and not some random street-vamp?"

"Oh. Ah, well." Wesley furrowed his brow. "It's a good question, really. I don't know."

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Yeah, this is gonna go well."

Luckily they were soon interrupted by Gunn and his friends who pulled the door to the mausoleum aside and came inside, hauling three unconscious vampires up to the box.

"Got two more on the truck," Gunn said, looking at the box and the pentagram on the floor. "This is it?"

"So it seems," Wesley replied with a slight shrug. Gunn raised his eyebrows.

"And will it work?"

"We have no idea," Cordelia declared tactlessly. Gunn just nodded.

"That's great." He disappeared outside to help Rondell and George get the other two sacrifices inside while Cordelia and Wesley dragged the first three into place and locked them in their chains.

Cordelia studied their faces carefully, ready to leap backwards if they showed any signs of waking up. Wesley looked up and heard Gunn exchange a few words with his friends before he shut the door to the mausoleum. Apparently the two of them had decided to wait outside.

Probably for the best, Wesley thought as he went to help Gunn with one of the remaining vampire's. Considering their opinion concerning doing anything else with vampires except for killing them.

Gunn stood back when the last vampire was locked up. He scowled and crossed his arms over his chest.

"This is all? Five sewer-reeking set of teeth and a wooden crate?" he asked dubiously.

"I know it doesn't look like much, but to the best of our knowledge this is exactly what Wolfram & Hart used… when they successfully performed the ritual to resurrect Darla," Wesley shrugged. Gunn didn't seem convinced, but he didn't say anything else.

"So?" Cordelia said to break the silence. "When can we do this?"

"No reason to wait," Wesley murmured with a glance at the vampires on the floor. "I wonder if it works as it should when these… creatures are still out cold." He looked at Gunn. "How much sedatives did you give them?"

"Three darts each," he replied shortly,

"Oh. Ah… a little, overkill, don't you think?" Gunn frowned.

"It was either that or risking not coming back here at all. Five vampires in the back of my truck – how many bumps do you think it would have taken for them to wake on only one dart?"

"I realize that. I'm just saying that..."

"Why don't you stop _saying_ so damn much and start _doing_ something instead."

"Guys! Fight later, perform dark rituals now?" Cordelia called out, scowling at them. They stared at her. "God, men are such babies," she sighed and rolled her eyes when she took the scroll from Wesley to read the first part of the incantation.

She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. She was actually nervous about this, even thought she would never admit it to anyone. How pathetic was that? She, nervous, about this?

"We have prepared a holy place in the darkness and anointed it with oil," she said, hoping that the "we" phrasing was correct even though she was by herself. "We have taken of the blood of the living and gathered together the living dead." She looked at Wesley. Now it was up to him.

"As it was written they shall prepare the way and the very gate of hell shall open," he spoke slowly, careful to get it right. "That which is above shall tremble…" Wesley trailed off as the ground started to rumble. "…that which is below shall arise. And the world shall know the beast - and the beast shall know the world."

Wesley slowly walked from one point of the star to the next as the scroll instructed.

"Five are without breath," he said with a glance at Cordelia.

"Yet they live," she said.

"Five are without time."

"Yet they live."

"Five are without soul."

"Yet they live."

"Five are without sun."

"Yet they live."

"Five are dead."

"Yet they live."

Wesley took a deep breath before he started to speak the last part of the incantation that was in Latin. His Latin was flawless. He had been top of the class at the academy… and still he felt terribly insecure when he uttered the familiar words in unfamilar phrases.

"Et illi quinque sacrificum est et illi que est mortuus vivet," he chanted.  
_Translation: And the five shall be a sacrifice... and the one who is dead shall live._

"Dum vita et mors non duas res sed unas sunt. In tenebris lux est, in luge tenebrae sunt."  
_Translation: Even as life and death are not two things but one... in darkness is the light, in light is the darkness. _

"Serge! Serge! Serge! Serge! Serge! Serge!"  
_Translation: Arise! Arise! Arise! Arise! Arise! Arise!_

The rushing sound of wind filled the mausoleum. Cordelia, Gunn and Wesley stared in fascination – and fear – as the energy coming out of the box killed the vampires, turned them all to bone and dust within just a few seconds.

The whirlwind circled the container and the rumbling grew louder until it peaked and the remains of the vampires were sucked into the box. The wind screeched in an ear-splitting decibel. A flash of white light accompanied by a loud boom filled the sanctum.

Wesley, who stood closest to it was hit by the energy with full force and slammed backwards against the wall. He slumped to the floor in an unconscious heap.


	21. MORTALLY BELOVED

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* * *

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**CHAPTER 21: MORTALLY BELOVED**

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* * *

**

The mausoleum was perfectly still and quiet just a second after the explosion. Before anyone reacted the silence seemed peaceful. That was, of course, until Wesley grunted in pain and Cordelia had gathered herself enough to rush up to him. It seemed like it took minutes, but really only a few seconds had passed.

"Wesley!" Cordelia yelled as she got down beside him. Gunn came after. Wesley grimaced and sat up, reaching for his glasses – a relived look spreading across his face when he found them intact despite the hard fall to concrete.

"Well, thank heavens," he muttered as he put them back on.

"Man, you should start wearin' contacts instead," Gunn smiled, their spat earlier forgotten.

"Are you okay?" Cordelia looked at him. He seemed fine. She looked at the crate with suspicion. Was that a good sign? Energy exploding? At least something must have happened… but what?

"I'm fine," Wesley replied absently, not taking his eyes off the box when he got to his feet. "Is it… I mean, did it…?"

"Haven't looked," Cordelia said. "But I guess we should, right?"

"I suppose we should," Wesley agreed. Cordelia stepped back and gave him a light push in the direction of the crate.

"Why don't you go first. I mean, you said the words… and if it's not Buffy but a vicious hell beast or something in there, we wouldn't want _all_ of us to be eaten or killed horribly…"

Wesley glared at her. "I'm glad to see that the one who pushed for this from the beginning has the guts to follow through," he said dryly.

"I have guts!" Cordelia protested. "I have loads of guts. Tons. I just like to them where they are." Gunn shook his head and sighed deeply.

"Hey, could you two save the bitching 'til Bingo Night? I'll go."

While Cordelia and Wesley remained at a safe distance, Gunn tiptoed towards the crate, listening carefully, ready to fight, or possibly flee, if something emerged from the box.

Only a few feet away from it he regretted that he didn't have a flashlight, or anything else that he could use to see better. The faint light in the mausoleum wasn't nearly enough to get inside the crate. He stopped in his tracks when he heard a sound.

Someone, or thing, breathing. More like panting, actually.

"There's someone in there alright," Gunn whispered in Cordelia and Wesley's direction. At the sound of his voice the panting stopped for a second before it started over.

"Someone, or something?" Cordelia hissed silently. Gunn gave her a look.

"How am I supposed to know? Should I ask it?" Cordelia frowned suspiciously.

"'It'? You said it. Why did you say 'it'?"

"Because I don't know what's in there."

"So look!" Gunn crossed his arms over his chest.

"Why me? I brought the vamps. I've done my share of possible fatal contributions for tonight." Cordelia snorted.

"Don't be too sure about that."

"I must say, we are really handling this brilliantly so far," Wesley muttered. He shook his head and strode up to the box. Whatever might be in there, they must take responsibility for it. After all, they had brought it into this world… no matter if "it" was a human, breathing Buffy or… not.

"Buffy?" he asked softly. The panting stopped again. "Buffy, is that you?"

"Buffy?" Cordelia echoed Wesley. "Okay, I know you must be confused here, I mean, who wouldn't be, but just so we can rule out you being a flesh eating hell beast, how about you tell us that it's really you." Cordelia waited a second as if expecting an answer. "Buffy?"

After a moment, someone appeared in the bared window. When the faint light fell upon her face, they all recognized her. She was a mess – sweaty, dirty, and seemingly naked with tangled hair and wild eyes.

It reminded Cordelia eerily of what Willow had told her about the condition Angel was in after he came back from hell. Buffy had never talked openly about it, but Willow had gotten at least half of the story, and passed it on.

It struck her that no one knew how Darla had been after her resurrection. Lindsay had only said that Buffy would be weak and in need of care from people close to her… but what did that mean? Was she only weak, or an insane, angry animal that didn't recognize them? She swallowed hard and felt the knot in her stomach grow.

After a moment the uncomprehending look on Buffy's face faded and she looked like she tried to focus her sight. Trembling fingers gripped the bars and she seemed to support herself on them.

Her thin, pale arms were actually shaking, Cordelia realized. From what? Was she cold? Afraid? Or just so incredibly fragile physically? It was a frightening notion… Buffy so weak. Like that time a few years back when Giles gave her drugs to take away her Slayer powers. But worse.

"Cordelia?" Her voice was raspy and weak, but there was definite recognition on her face.

"Gunn, I have a blanket in the backseat of my car, will you be kind and fetch it?" Wesley asked calmly, careful not to startle Buffy. Gunn just nodded and disappeared. No one said anything until he came back and handed Wesley the blanket. He pushed it in inside the crate through the bars. Buffy disappeared from their field of vision when she bent down to wrap the blanket around her.

"Buffy, can I open the door?" Wesley asked politely after a minute. He waited a few seconds. "Buffy?" When he didn't get an answer he shrugged and opened the door slowly.

"Dear God."

Buffy was lying on the floor, blanket tightly wrapped around her body, her legs sprawled and her face slack and white.

"Oh no, Buffy? Buffy?"

* * *

She heard voices. Voices echoing in her ears. The warmth of blankets wrapped around her body. She tried to swallow to moisten her throat, but the effort seemed to make her so very tired.

She fought to keep her conscience, even though she was sure why she wanted to. Where was she? Who was she? Buffy. Yeah, she knew that much. But why… and where?

She remembered… being a vampire. Angel. England. Suffering.

Why was she here? Who had taken her here? She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids seemed glued together. She tried to command her arms to wriggle out of all the blankets, convinced that if she could only move her body she would regain control of her motor functions… hopefully.

She heard Cordelia's voice. Even though she was speaking silently her words cut through her ears and head like a hundred knives.

Her damp hair was sticking to her face, it itched and felt uncomfortable. She just wanted to move, get her body warm and bendy, brush the hair from her face… and open her eyes. She tried to move her legs instead, and it worked out a little better.

She managed to rotate her feet a few times, and it seemed to awaken her system with a start. She felt wonderful body heat spread up her legs and through her body. She didn't even reflect on the fact that she shouldn't have body heat – unless the impossible had happened.

She cracked her eyes open and closed them quickly again when they were attacked by the bright, stabbing light from a ceiling lamp.

"She's awake," she heard Wesley say, at least she was pretty sure it was him, but t was a little hard to tell when his words echoed in her head, repeating over and over.

"Buffy?" Cordelia asked. She tried to say something, but the only sound she managed was a strangled peep. She cleared her throat and swallowed and tried again.

"Where am I?" she managed. Slowly, very slowly, she pulled herself to a sitting position on the couch. She still wasn't wearing any clothes – but the amount of blankets around her made sure she didn't have to expose anything. She looked at the three of them. Wesley. Cordelia. Gunn. All staring at her as if she was the eighth wonder of the world.

"My apartment," Cordelia replied.

"You gave us quiet a scare," Wesley said softly. "How are you feeling?" Buffy didn't answer. She couldn't - partly because she didn't know what to say, partly because she knew whatever she might want to say, she wouldn't be able to utter that many words.

"Can I… can I get you anything?" Cordelia asked. Buffy shook her head once – it stirred up such horrible dizziness she almost had to lie down again. Unconsciously she felt her chest… where the arrow had hit her. There was nothing there. Had it all been a dream? And if that was… exactly how much had she dreamt?

"I'm… You're… How? Who did…?"

"It's a long story, Buffy," Wesley began diplomatically, realizing that she probably wouldn't be able to comprehend the long version right now. "What you need to know is that when you and Angel were in England you… you died."

Buffy nodded. "I… I remember." So it wasn't a dream then. Well, it wasn't like it was the first time she came back from the dead. Only that time, she hadn't turned into a pile of dust when she died.

"Yes. Now, we had a shot at getting you back… and we took it."

"But how?"

"Do you remember Darla?" What a silly question. Of course she remembered Darla. "She was brought back from the dead… as you remember."

"But she was brought back as a human," Buffy murmured. "That means…" she trailed off, realization slowly dawning on her.

"Yes." Wesley smiled. "It does."

This should be the place where she would do a happy dance, rejoice and thank them overwhelmingly. They had brought her back to life. Not unlife as a vampire – to a human, living life. The thing she and Angel had fought so hard to accomplish before... before everything. Yet the last thing she felt like doing was cheering and thanking them.

"Why?" she croaked in a broken voice, looking away to avoid their disappointed, questioning faces. She felt tears burning behind her eyelids. She wasn't even sure why she felt so depressed. She looked up when she heard thunder outside. It was cold and raining, and she was feeling like a shadow of her former self.

I was dead – I was relieved of my duty, why did you drag me back into this world, she wanted to scream. But she didn't.

She looked back at them, afraid that they would take her reaction wrong. She must be competing for the title of Spoiled Brat of the Year the way she was behaving, she thought. They had obviously taken a big risk by bringing her back, and she was sitting here on the verge of tears, displaying her ungratefulness.

"Because the world needs you," Wesley said calmly. "And more importantly at the moment… Angel needs you."

It didn't strike her until then. It was weird – he had been such a pivotal part of her life the months before she died, and before that, and she didn't even reflect on the fact that he wasn't there until now. But when Wesley said it, the space next to her where he should sit and comfort her suddenly seemed so horribly empty.

"Where is he?" she asked, afraid of the answer. "What's wrong with him?" Had he been hurt by the Council? Was he back from England yet? How long had it been since she died, anyway?

"Try 'what's_ not_ wrong with him' instead, it'll be an easier question to answer," Cordelia muttered. Buffy looked at her, uncomprehending.

"What?" she asked.

"Buffy… when you died. Angel, he… he went quiet mad," Wesley said, grimacing at the lack of finding better words for it. "Completely insane, one might even say. He's killed several people that he blames for your death in one way or another. And… he fired us." Wesley looked thoroughly miserable for a minute.

Buffy frowned. Her head wasn't ready for her to try to figure out what Angel had done to avenge her and what it might mean, so she chose to focus on the second part of what Wesley had just said. "Fired you? Why?"

"He didn't really explain," Cordelia said dryly. "But he clearly didn't think about the repercussions. Now we're all out of a job, out of money, soon out of a roof over our heads. All the while he has the Hyperion all to himself."

"Of course… uhm, we hope… think, that now when you're back, he'll get back on track," Wesley said. Gunn snorted. Buffy looked at him. He seemed tense, annoyed even. There was something more to this, she could feel it. Something wrong with Angel. Something much more wrong than taking blood vengeance and driving his friends away in a time of horrible grief. Because that, the odd ways to express his mourning... she could understand. Relate to. After all, she hadn't exactly been Miss Stable after she sent him to hell years ago.

"How long has it been?" she asked. Was it days, weeks, months? She had no idea.

"Well, you… it happened around Christmas, and it's March now."

Months of her life wasted, just like that. Well, it was certainly progress since her last death. After all that one only lasted a few minutes. She felt her panic grow. What had happened during these months?

She wanted to ask them, talk and question them, but at the same time she just felt so tired… and so uncomfortable. She was sticky, dirty, and naked, and her limbs were shaking from exhaustion. She wanted a hot shower, clothes… and a warm bed. But something told her that this night wouldn't allow her much time to herself.

"What else- what else has he done?" she asked. Gunn frowned. Wesley and Cordelia squirmed uncomfortably. They found it hard to explain what they didn't know too well themselves.

"Well," Wesley began. "Since he lost you, he's done a number of things out of character. I think, when you died, he lost his whole interest in redemption. He… he hasn't behaved exactly like the Angel we knew. It's a long story, really." He glanced at Gunn. "In the meantime… do you think you have any shot at finding him tonight, Charles? We would really need him here as soon as possible." Gunn shrugged.

"I'll do what I can," he sighed as he got up from his seat and left.

"Tell me," Buffy demanded when Gunn had left. "I want to know what's happened."

"Ah, yes. As I said, it's a long story."

"But we have time," Cordelia cut in. "Let's begin with the upsides, shall we? You won't really be bothered by the Council anymore, I can tell you that much…"

* * *

Gunn looked at his watch. It was late. Well, late for humans anyway. For vampires it must be early afternoon. He just hoped that Angel was still out and about – because going in to the hotel alone, with no idea of his state of mind? Not happening.

He parked his car. This was the same area as where he had seen Angel and Drusilla the last time. Maybe they always took their midnight stroll here, he thought, shaking his head to himself. This was madness. Everyone was mad – Angel was, Cordy and Wes was, and he must be too, considering what he was currently doing.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and started off down the empty street. He had a stake there, ready for use if it was needed. It wasn't as if it was for Angel really – he was always precautious enough to have a weapon on him… still, it felt extra good to have it there now. He looked up towards the sky. It was still raining. A lot. He took a right and went through an alley.

There was something about this night, something in the air… something that told him that it wouldn't end as successfully as it had started out. Or maybe it was just the weather. The rain did seem to put a damp cloth over everything. Literally even, since his clothes were soaked.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard a sound. A rustling, kind of. He continued forward silently, went around a corner and… There they were.

Well, that went fast. The source of the rustling sounds soon became obvious. Drusilla held two trashcan lids in her hands and slammed them together, making a horrible rustling, metallic sound.

"The King of Cups is hereby announced," Drusilla said ceremoniously. "This is his big night." Gunn was pretty sure he could hear Angel sigh. He walked close to them slowly, knowing that they had probably already noticed him.

"Angel," he said, his voice calm and even. The vampire flinched and looked up. Drusilla stared at him, making a silent hissing sound... like a snake, or maybe a cat. She threw her lids to the ground.

"What do you want?" Angel asked harshly, barely avoiding a snarl.

"Look, man. Just here to talk," Gunn said calmly, moving slowly, careful to keep his hands in sight. Angel eyed him with suspicion and his gaze traced his coat and pants for bulges that might be hidden weapons . When he looked in his eyes, Gunn shuddered slightly under his dark glance.

"First talk. Then kill me?" Angel asked darkly. Gunn shifted his weight uncomfortably. He had probably seen the stake. He wasn't sure what bothered him the most. Angel's tired, worn – downright vicious look, or the fact that he seemed completely indifferent about the fact that he may or may not be killed in a few seconds.

"No, actually the first was the only thing I had planned." Gunn studied him. He had never seen Drusilla this close before – not other than briefly at least. It was interesting. Her big, dark, strangely innocent-looking eyes, they were so full of… yeah, what? Not life. Insight? Yeah, maybe. Childishness. Oh, and the madness, of course. Gunn threw a quick glance at Angel. Madness caused by him… what he had done to her.

Her long, thin, pale fingers traced along Angel's arm, clutching it, blood-red nails scratching it playfully. Whenever she caught Gunn's gaze for just an instant, her wide mouth curled into a sardonic grin, and her tongue went across a row of perfect white teeth. She was a pure predator, and to a man like Gunn it was unbelievable how anyone could ever think that she was a human woman.

"I don't have anything to say to you," Angel stated.

"But I have something to say to you." Gunn swallowed hard. He hadn't put much thought into how he was going to break the news to him. Right here? In the car? Just drive him to Cordelia's without a word?

Angel raised his eyebrows slightly. "So talk," he said.

"I will," Gunn continued hesitantly. "But… not here. I have my car parked a few blocks away. Why don't you come with me?" Angel stared at him blankly for a second, and Gunn could see what was going on in his mind. He was clearly debating with himself whether to trust him or not. It might very well be an ambush. Or it might not be. He might be taken somewhere to be killed, or he might not. Somehow it didn't seem to make very much difference. Finally he looked at Drusilla.

"Go," she whispered. "Go with him. Down and up, up and down – go with him to flip your frown."

Unsure what to do with Drusilla, but realizing that he couldn't reasonably bring her, Angel released himself from her grip and followed Gunn with a stern look at her. He told her not to follow, and she didn't plan to. She stood there happily until Gunn and Angel had disappeared. She smiled happily to herself.

"He will be at his worst before he becomes his best… all over again."


	22. THE FORCE OF HABIT

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**CHAPTER 22: THE FORCE OF HABIT**

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Twenty minutes of blissful calm and silence was interrupted when the door to Cordelia's apartment was flung open.

They had told her everything. Everything they knew anyway. About Angel's killing spree, Angel firing them, them trying to cope on their own, Drusilla… everything up to when Lindsay stumbled into Cordelia's living room, claiming to have been beaten half to death by Angel.

And Buffy? She had reacted like… well, that was just the thing. She hadn't showed them much in the way of emotions at all. Every once in a while she had given them a hurt look or shook her head… but she wasn't at all the Emotion-gal, as Cordelia put it, from before. Then again, it might just be the painful and horrifying resurrection taking its toll.

When they were finished telling her she had asked very silently, very politely, if she could possibly use the shower. Cordelia had given her clothes – the smallest she could find in her wardrobe, and told her to take all the time she needed. She had disappeared into the bathroom with a thankful look at them.

And that was twenty minutes ago now. Twenty minutes of needed and well-deserved calm, ended when that door shot open and Angel came rushing inside.

Wesley and Cordelia looked at him, trying to interpret the look on his face. Cordelia grabbed the large cross she had stashed under a couch cushion unconsciously, even though she realized that it wasn't necessary when she saw his eyes. Not cold and hard like before… his eyes were genuinely confused and worried.

"Is it true?" he asked. They hadn't heard him use such a living, non-monotonic voice since before he and Buffy had left for England.

Gunn came rushing inside, panting. "Man, some of us have to breathe while running like that," he said. He turned to Cordelia and Wesley. "I'm not sure he believed me."

"Is she here?" Angel demanded, and they could see the doubt in his eyes. Cordelia frowned to herself. Didn't he trust this not to be a joke or a misunderstanding? Did he really think that them, his friends, would do that to him? She couldn't help but to feel hurt herself.

"She's in the bathroom, taking a shower," Cordelia said, feeling relieved there for a moment. There – her work was done. She, or well, they, had brought Buffy back and they had helped Angel back to her. The rest was up to him. And it felt nice that the next move was Angel's – she couldn't do anything else now. Hopefully things would solve themselves now for a change.

Angel didn't say another word before he turned and disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. Cordelia swallowed, suddenly uncertain. What if…? No. After all, what could happen?

"Not to worry, I'm sure," Wesley said confidently, as if reading her mind. "They're back together – I'm sure we have nothing else to worry about."

* * *

. 

Buffy wiped away the steam on the bathroom mirror and looked into it, frowning slightly when she saw what a serious looking, small and seemingly weak person was staring back at her. She tied Cordelia's bathrobe around her waist. It was too big and made her seem even smaller, but she didn't have much choice.

What had become of her? A living, breathing person, a positive person might say. She had been given a second chance, and it was… amazing.

Or at least it should be. Instead she felt like lying down and drifting into an eternal sleep – again, and that made her feel guilty. She should be grateful for this second chance. Or was it third? Why did people keep giving her new chances at life every time she screwed up and got herself killed? What made _her_ so special?

She heard voices outside somewhere. Was it Gunn coming back? She felt a knot tie up in her stomach. Did that mean that _he_ was here, too?

She had listened silently when Cordelia and Wesley told her what he had done… _everything_ he had done. She wasn't sure what to feel, not at all actually. Anger was an emotion coming to mind, just like disgust and appellation and the inability to understand…

But that was just it, she did understand, at least partly. She tried to imagine herself in his position. What would she have done if he had been killed by the Council? When he almost got killed and they had refused to help him she had let everything go, turned her back on them and been ready to sacrifice her own life to save him. And she had been human then. Angel had struggled with his inner demon, just like she had, during his grieving.

A normal person should come to reason and let his friends be there to help, Wesley had said, but that was just it. Angel wasn't a person, not even close to, she understood that better now than ever before. It didn't make him a bad creature, necessarily, but it definitely made him something else than a human man. So why should he react like one?

There were of course things that she couldn't understand as well. Such as teaming up with Drusilla, what was that all about? Taking down Wolfram & Hart… She didn't have much experience with them, but it didn't take a genius to understand that such a thing, if it was even possible, would cause repercussions.

And, taking out his revenge on innocent people – hadn't Wesley said something about a kid? – that was taking it too far. Way too far. She looked in the mirror once more, staring into the serious green eyes she saw there. Once, when the First was haunting him, she had realized that not only Angelus was a threat. At some point she might have to be ready to kill Angel because he used what was in him to cause damage.

Would she ever be able to do that? More importantly, did she have the strength to do that right now if it was necessary? No one seemed to have even thought about that. What if she wasn't able to help him?

She heard someone turn the doorknob, and she swallowed hard. It might of course only be Cordelia coming to check on her. Maybe Gunn hadn't even found him; odds were that he hadn't after all. It was a big city out there, and he might be anywhere. With Drusilla.

She heard the door open, and a cold shudder went through her. She didn't even have to look in the mirror and see that he wasn't there to know that he was. She turned around slowly, fearing what she might find there.

And there he was. He looked just like… no, actually, he didn't look like the last time she saw him. He looked worn and tired, that pretty much summed it up. Like he had been living with this huge burden, carried this heavy weight on his shoulders the months she had been gone.

She saw him, she knew every questionable thing he had done since she died, but it didn't matter. He was there, and he warmed her entire being just by standing there, looking at her. The recent past, just as everything horrible he had done before – to her and the world, didn't matter.

"Angel," she spoke his name. As if that small word, her saying his name assured him that she was actually there and not a trick of his mind, he walked up to her.

* * *

. 

"Angel." He looked at her. Was she afraid? He could see her lower lip tremble slightly, but then again, that might only be from the tension. He had seen a lot of different kinds of fear in his day, but nothing indicated that she was afraid of him right now.

Her small hands clutched a hairbrush and she was wearing a bathrobe with must belong to Cordelia, going by size and scent. He took a small step forward as if to test her, and she remained where she was.

If he were to do what he had wanted and needed so badly for so long – walk up to her and hold her, she would actually be there. He wouldn't wake up to find her to be a dream once again, and she wasn't a hallucination that would fade if he closed his eyes.

He could see in her eyes that she knew what he had done since she died, but she didn't look angry or reproaching. She looked like she was as grateful of him being there as he was of her. He slowly walked up to her.

Buffy was alive – not just alive but living, breathing, warm. Healthy. However they managed – here she was, she looked weak, but it was _her_. The vision of her, her scent, her whole being… He lost himself in it.

Buffy's eyes were brimming with tears, but they were tears of joy and relief, not sadness or suffering like the last time he had seen her. She dropped the hairbrush and embraced him, and he took her in his arms and held her tightly, wondering how he had ever lived without her. Well, he hadn't – he had just existed.

They kissed – everything so familiar, yet so distant, so unreal. It was a hard and desperate kiss, two reunited lovers trying to take in as much as possible of each other as quickly as they could. Convincing each other that they were both really there, and that everything would be alright as long as they could remain together.

He had been lost, but now he was with her again, what he had done didn't matter any more. Buffy was here, and she was okay. His cold, lifeless body was instantly heated by her living presence. He melted into her, his body seeming to hum wherever she touched him. He let himself drown in her, her taste and smell let her comfort him. He was home.

He felt the calm, silent peace infiltrate his body, felt it warm him, comfort him, and for a moment, for one blessed moment, he knew perfect, untainted happiness. He let it fill him, consume him, he basked in the selfish pleasure and hugged it close until he was burning with it.

He had a second of absolute stillness and silence to realize what had just happened.

The burning... It didn't stop.

The fire spread, growing hotter and more vicious... it scorched and blistered and began to tear at the walls of his flesh. He strangled a cry as the pain reached its peak. Every single muscle in his body tensed. The room was swirling, spinning and he was falling away from it.

She needs you – she can't handle him now, she needs _you_! his mind screamed to him, but he couldn't do anything to fight the change. He couldn't make it stop.

Angel fell to his knees and held his head to avoid screaming out loud. Buffy stood back, horror struck. She didn't realize what was happening at first – she had never actually seen it, and right now she was anything but as sharp and quick minded as usual.

"Buffy…You have to… Get out!" If she had been at full strength, this would be where she knocked him unconscious and made sure he was well chained up and a call made to Sunnydale by the time he awakened.

That wouldn't happen now. She was tired and hurting, her head aching and legs shaking slightly just from the effort to stand up straight for more than a few minutes. Angel cried out in pain and collapsed completely to the floor.

"Angel? What do you mean?" He had stopped moving, turned away from her he was slowly getting to his feet. She went to him and bent down next to him to support him.

"Angel, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he stated coldly as he grabbed her by the throat and got to his feet in one swift motion. "I feel just fine."

Still holding her hard, keeping her from breathing properly, he kissed her again. This time it was different, it was filled with desire and… hate.

Horrified Buffy stared into his dark eyes. They were missing something, but Buffy couldn't pull away.

* * *

. 

Just a minute ago he had kissed her passionately.

Now the passion had changed to hate. Pure, passionate hate. She couldn't pull away from the kiss. Its essence was stronger than anything she had ever known. It felt like he was draining the life out of her, and surely he was in a way since she could hardly breathe the way he held her.

She gathered all the strength she had in her both physically and emotionally and broke away from him. Her lips were pounding and hurting. She wiped the blood off her mouth with the back of her hand. He had split her lip. The salty, metallic taste of her own blood in her mouth made her stomach turn and nausea shoot up through her system.

She looked at him, stared into his eyes – just a minute ago they had held happiness and love. Now those same eyes, his eyes held nothing but hate. Buffy opened her mouth to speak. His stone cold face broke into a leer – that chillingly familiar leer. She shook her head.

"No... no… how? How?"

He just smiled sweetly, chillingly sweetly, waiting patently the few seconds it took for it to dawn on her. He saw the pain and shock strike her slowly, saw her body crumble and smelled the tears in her eyes when she realized it – what she had done… what she had turned her lover into. Again.

Happiness… Buffy's eyes welled up with tears as she realized what had happened. No, not again. Her mind raced. She had done this to him, it was her fault. Would she be able to stop him this time? Angelus learned from his mistakes – what if he became even more efficient in killing everybody she knew this time around?

Angelus stopped smirking and spoke in his worst mocking voice.

"C'mon Buff. You act as if you had no idea this would happen. You know how much he _loves_ you. I'm sure you've heard how low he sank after you died. You thought that seeing you again wouldn't make him happy? C'mon. Stop with the innocent act."

Angelus laughed cruelly. Buffy turned and tried to run out of the bathroom on shaking legs, but before she could make it to the door he grabbed her by the arm and flung her stumbling towards the wall.

Her body slammed into it and she slid down. The nausea whirled up again and she felt a jolting pain in her right elbow which took most of the hit.

Angelus walked over to her and pulled her up by her hair. She whimpered in pain and fear, the feeling of complete helplessness clawing at her from the inside. She tried to take a swing at him with her left fist but he blocked her move easily.

Once he had her standing up, he held her arms pinned to her sides as he kissed her again angrily and her bottom lip started to bleed again. He savored the sweet and salty, powerful taste of her blood.

"God, you're easy." He chuckled as he flung her to the floor. Her naked left knee smacked against the tile hard and started to bleed. She felt incredibly humiliated in the bathrobe and tried desperately to cover as much of her body as possible with it.

"Oh come on, lover. Nothing there I haven't seen before," he mocked, knowing how his remarks would hurt her.

The other door leading into the bathroom opened and Cordelia peeked inside. "Is everything ok? We could hear some..." Cordelia trailed off once he saw Buffy crumpled up and bleeding on the floor and the bathroom a mess. "What the hell did you do to her?" She hissed at Angelus motioning to Buffy. "This is Buffy, have you gone totally insane, we thought that seeing her again would drag you OUT of your craziness and not…"

Angelus turned his head and shot Cordelia his deadliest gaze. It held pure predatory. Even at his lowest, Angel never looked like that.

A creature with a soul never could.

A few times he had looked at her so darkly that she wanted nothing else than turning and running away – but this was different. The gaze was dark, deadly, roaming her body as if imagining what he could do with it – and not in a good way. It was feral. She froze in the middle of the sentence as his true identity dawned on her.

"No," she whispered. Angelus let the corner of his mouth curl into a leer.

"No. No, no, no. No! WESLEY!"

The clamping of two pair of feet was heard as Wesley and Gunn quickly came to the bathroom.

"Guess what," Cordelia said, not letting her eyes off Angelus. Even if she was terrified – who wouldn't after discovering the Scourge of Europe in their bathroom, she managed to keep her voice steady. "We just got even bigger problems than before. Guess who just got a fresh doze of 'Grrr'."

Wesley, the man of caution, took a quick look first at Buffy then at Angel and then began to protest, "We don't know that he's…"

The vampire turned to him, looking like, well... like a vampire, wearing his unmistakable sardonic grin, "...Angelus. Oh."

Angelus dusted off his old sing-song voice, preparing to greet those of his past acquaintance. "Well gee, _guys_, not much of a welcome from my bestest evil fightin' buds. Gotta tell ya, not feelin' the love."

"Stay back or one of us will stake you, I mean it. One step closer and you're as good as dust," Cordelia warned, going for maximum bitch, minimum petrified bunny caught in headlights of large, quickly approaching truck.

Her mind was reeling, somehow it didn't matter how much experience she got in the way of standing in front of Angelus – he still had the power to shrink her mentally to the size of an ant and crush her, without even saying a word directly to her.

Focus, damn it.

Angelus turned to her. Cordelia noticed the broken Buffy on the floor, a shaking hand slowly reaching for her hairbrush on the floor. Her hairbrush with a wooden handle.

"Come on, Cordy, can't we talk about this? I know how you love to talk... and talk... and talk... and – wait, good point – stake me now!" Angelus threw his head back and laughed. Hard. Oh, it felt good laugh, so damn good after being trapped behind the Soul's super depressed façade for all this time. Those exceptionally heavy, gag inducing thoughts of worthlessness had been enough to make anyone suicidal. Figuratively speaking, of course.

"Who's gonna do it then, hm?" he sauntered towards the other doorway that Buffy was close to.

"How about you, Wes? Rogue demon hunter. You? You're the boss of 'Angel Investigations' now, aren't you? Does that feel good, you like being in charge? Tell them who should stake me, look at them all just waiting for you give the order…"

Before he had time to finish his sentence, Buffy shot up from behind, lunging at him with the hairbrush.

His attention was taken off Cordelia, Wes and Gunn for a second when he whirled around and caught Buffy by her wrists. She failed to strangle a whimper when he let his fingers dig into them, making her feel as if the bones would snap at any moment.

He flung the hairbrush out of her hand, smiled at her and pushed her backwards roughly, sending her tumbling to the floor. She realized that right now, she was truly helpless, without the least chance in a fight against him. She was like a normal girl, any girl… and such a girl would never have a chance to escape from Angelus with her life intact, if he didn't want her to. It was a frightening notion.

When his back was turned Gunn had retrieved the stake he had in his pocket and stood ready to strike. He should have known better than to try to take Angelus from behind, but it was pretty much his only chance.

When Angelus stepped towards Buffy who was sitting on the floor Gunn called out, raised his stake and brought it down with full force.


	23. FORFEITURE

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**CHAPTER 23: FORFEITURE**

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It was a stupid move, really.

The thing is, it was just so stupid and unexpected that it might have worked – that was unless Angelus had moved out of Gunn's way, turned around and punched him squarely in the face in one smooth motion. The stake was yanked out of his hand and thrown to the side. Cordelia helped a practically snarling and bleeding Gunn to his feet.

Wesley straightened. "Touch one of us again and you will die, Angelus," he said coldly. His face was straight and dead serious, but the menacing edge in his voice was somewhat undermined by the hearty laugh Angelus gave as a reply.

"Hmm," Angelus shrugged, still amused. "Already dead!"

Gunn was still seething with anger, "Don't rupture something while keeping up that arch enemy comic book crap," he hissed, the only thing holding him back being the knowledge that he would fail just as miserable once again if he took another shot at Angelus.

Angelus kept his eyes fixed on Wesley, "He's a pit bull that one, isn't he? I like it. He could be more than an eat and run. So much rage and macho 'I hate the world' attitude. I wonder what kind of vampire he would make – at least his sister turned out to be a peach."

He chuckled, as Gunn's attempt to lunge at him again was stopped short by an authoritative, barring arm from Wesley.

Angelus had used the distraction to inch, gradually, back towards Buffy, until he was close enough to grab her and lock her in the crook of his left arm. He held her pinned to his chest – her small body effectively covering his heart.

Buffy struggled, but Angelus kept her steady. He put enough pressure over her throat for her to be forced to use all of her strength to pull his arm down far enough to be able to breathe. She whimpered from the pain, feeling how his hand dug itself into her throat.

She tried to wriggle free and used both her hands to try and loosen his grip, but she was at a severe disadvantage and Angelus could still keep up his interaction with Wes, Gunn and Cordelia without any problems.

"I'll snap her neck if you even think about moving," Angelus spoke casually. "Don't even think about reaching for the stake, Cordy, and Wes...Wesley, Wesley, Wesley, you'll never make it in time. You never do, your big inferiority complex weighing you down and all. Remember Faith? Now, that's actually one of your more interesting mistakes."

Wesley winced at the reminder of his perhaps biggest mistakes as a Watcher ever. Angelus was always one to hit the nerve.

"Why don't you go back to the mother country and let your old man whip you around the house. Oh, wait. He's dead, as I seem to recall – I killed him." Angelus smiled.

They all hesitated. None of them were that convinced that he would actually kill off Buffy just like that – but they didn't know. They couldn't risk it. And they certainly couldn't anticipate her to take him on by herself. She was much too weakened, physically and mentally.

Buffy grunted as she put all her strength in and tried to yank his arm away from her throat. She failed, she managed to move it slightly, but his grip was firm.

"Buff. Precious little Buffy. What's happened to you, hmm? Now, it's not surprising that turning to dust would suck some energy out of you, but what is this? Where's your spirit? The fire? The promises to kill me before I can even touch you?" He chuckled.

"Go to hell," she hissed, her voice low by the lack of breath.

"Mmm," Angelus sneered. "Will you do me the honor of taking me this time as well?"

She didn't answer him, but at his words she let her fingernails dig deep into his arm. She wanted to tell him to count on it, to make a snappy Slayer-remark and actually be confident that she would be able to carry out her promises of sweet death for all the baddies… but this time she really wasn't sure.

He felt her fingernails piercing the skin, but he didn't even flinch. She bit her lip to keep unshed tears of frustration and pain rolling down her cheeks, but she knew that he could smell them anyway. Either way, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of letting him see her cry.

"You know," Angelus continued. "I wanted you as a, oh, what is… I mean, _was_, the Council's fancy word for it? Mate." He flashed her a smirk. "Yeah, I wanted you as a _mate_, but right now I'm not sure it's worth it to turn you again. I mean, it took only a few months before you got yourself killed, that's smooth! Maybe I should just end it right her and move on; after all on the topic of Faith, she is a cheeky one as well."

And of course he knew how much that comment would hurt her.

"Yeah." He nodded, as if actually considering it. "I might just to that."

Cordelia realized she had to do something. She cleared her throat loudly.

"So what's the plan, Angelus? Did you decide to celebrate Buffy's homecoming with a bloodbath? Well, if we're gonna do this the old fashioned way, why don't you make a big threat, shove away Buffy and leave with the usual promise to torment us and make us wet our pants? Go ahead already. I'm sure you have more important things to take care of, don't you? I mean, after all this has happened a few times, you've managed to get your soul back more than once now - one would think that a big scary like you would learn from your mistakes… uh…" Cordelia's rambling tactic was good for stalling, but it had gone too far, and she realized her mistake to late.

Wesley and Gunn stared at her and Wesley hissed under his breath.

"The curse!"

Angelus managed to dredge up just a little more of the chilling laughter that he so enjoyed being notorious for. "Where would I be without you to remind me of my priorities, huh, Cordy? Hell, did you think I forgot about that? I've already scheduled a meeting with a certain red headed witch," he said cheerily, before lowering his voice to a husky growl.

"Be right back, lover," he hissed into Buffy's ear.

He planted a rough kiss on her lips and shoved her away, right into Wesley and Gunn before he stalked out of Cordelia's apartment, grinning gleefully at the commotion he left behind. Buffy slumped down onto the floor, her legs buckling beneath her.

The others were soon by her side, Wesley, helping her gently back to her feet. As soon as she was sure that her legs would carry her she pulled away from their helping hands and worried glances.

"It's- I'm okay, honestly," she assured them, embarrassed. She hadn't been this weak since that time around her 18th birthday when Giles had given her drugs to take the edge of her Slayer strength.

Only this was worse. Not only was she lacking in strength – she was physically fragile, her arms and legs hurting, nausea clawing at her stomach, a bruise forming over her throat that hurt when she breathed, spoke or swallowed. "At least we all got our heads attached," she added, mumbling.

"Exactly, Angelus is twisted; straight up killing isn't his style. This was too easy... much too easy for him," Cordelia said. Wesley gave her a look, but she just glared right back at him. This was real, and no matter how much they wished for it not to be, it was.And Cordelia wasn't about to make light of the problem that would probably come back to bite them all in the butt.

Or maybe in this case the neck.

* * *

. 

"So."

Cordelia looked from Wesley to Gunn, and then back at Wesley. It was only about thirty minutes since Angelus stalked out of the apartment – but it felt like a lifetime. The three of them sat around Cordelia's kitchen table. As soon as they left the bath room, Buffy had dressed and curled up in the living room couch where she was still sitting in the exactly same position as twenty minutes ago.

"So…" she said again, waiting for either one of the guys to help her out.

They didn't.

"Hello!" she said, louder this time, throwing a worried glance at the almost pathetic little ball that was supposed to be Buffy; the Vampire Slayer. Something told her that they wouldn't get much help from her in a while. She swallowed. Possible a long while. And that meant that it was up to them to make things right. "Time to snap out of the zombie state. We need to actually _do_ something here."

Wesley nodded slowly. "Yes, we really should, shouldn't we?"

"She seems to be having a total melt down," Cordelia said silently, indicating Buffy, "plus she's weak right now, so we, as in the three of us need to act _now_. That is of course unless you two are tired of the whole intact neck look, in that case by all means sit around and wait for Angelus to come and play."

"Well, I guess we could begin with performing the de-invitation spell so we at least are safe here," Wesley suggested. Cordelia swallowed and looked away. Wesley furrowed his brow. "What?"

"Well, I don't exactly… have all the ingredients at home."

"Cordelia!"

"Hey, look, I didn't expect Angelus to come back again, and besides, we've been busy lately. Not to mention the fact that money's been kinda in short supply, and stinky herbs hasn't exactly been on the top of my shopping list."

"Still, it's more than a little incautious to not have even the most basic supplies at home, it is a standard procedure after all," Wesley murmured, and Cordelia glared. "But it won't help us to throw around the blame. Alright, that means we need to either get the supplies or relocate. Angelus could come back at any time."

Cordelia looked at her watch. "Do you really think there are any stores open now?" Wesley nodded.

"Valid point. Well, then I guess we could take Buffy to my apartment. I've never invited Angel there."

"Seems sensible," Gunn snorted. Wesley just looked at him. He knew Gunn's viewpoint and right now he couldn't argue with it.

"Also, we should notify Sunnydale," Wesley continued. "I think it's safe to assume that Angelus will seek Willow sooner or later, even if we can't be sure exactly when."

"What if he went straight over there?" Gunn said pessimistically. "We could already be too late with the warning."

"No," Wesley objected calmly. "Angelus is cunning and moves fast, but still – he can't get to Sunnydale quicker than he can drive there, which still gives us at least an hour. I'll call Giles right away."

He grabbed Cordelia's phone and dialed a number. They could hear several signals before someone finally picked up.

"Mr. Giles? This is Wesley. Yes, actually I do realize what the time is… but I'm afraid my information justifies disturbing you at this late hour. It's about Angel."

* * *

. 

It was a beautiful night. For once their evening begging down at 39th had panned out – they wouldn't have to starve for a few days. Life was pretty good. Where to crash for the night was still an issue, but what the hell. Maybe they could sleep under the stars.

Kenny and his girlfriend Les were sitting on a secluded bench in a park that seemed to constitute their home for the night. It was late night and very dark – there was just one working streetlamp nearby that lit up the area around them slightly. It didn't matter – the two adolescents were concentrating on nothing but each other. They had been here many times before, and even if the park wasn't situated in the nicer part of L.A. they usually got what they wanted – privacy. Something that they wouldn't have a chance of getting in any of the teen centers there was in the city.

Tonight though, something was different. Kenny heard the sound of footsteps and froze mid-motion when he heard a twig snap. Over time he had learned to always have one ear peeked, one eye open. It would save them many unpleasant surprises.

"Did you hear that?" he asked his girlfriend.

"Hear what?" She shook her head. "The only thing I hear is you making unnecessary sound. Lay off, Kenny."

"No, really. Listen."

A figure brushed passed a tree just twenty yards or so away. Kenny got up from the bench, taking a defensive stance. Someone was about to sneak up on them – he wasn't about to let them.

"Stay here," he said bravely before he headed into the darkness.

He went all the way to the tree but he couldn't see anyone. His senses peeked, he continued, walking further away from his girlfriend, further away from the reasonable safety of the light the streetlamp spread. When he could only see the streetlamp as a bright spot far away, he decided that the sounds must have been in his head and turned back. He walked back towards the bench with the sinking feeling that someone was watching him… following him. He felt a chill go down his spine and he turned to look behind himself when heard a voice.

"Hi there." Kenny turned slowly, not sure what to expect, and not very happy about what he found there.

The man was tall, well built and wearing a black trench coat. Kenny couldn't quite interpret whether the smile on his face was friendly or not. His dark gaze made him uncomfortable, and very sure that something was seriously off with this dude. At first he tried to just walk around the guy, but he followed.

"Look, man, I don't want any trouble, okay?"

"Trouble?" the guy looked at him, pretending not to understand.

Kenny tried to run right past him, and just as he thought that he had succeeded, he heard a sickening cracking sound followed by a sharp pain in his arm. The guy caught him by the wrist and flung him back. Kenny fell to the ground, cradling his wrist. Was it broken? At least it felt like it. Okay, the guy was big and looked strong, but not _that _strong.

"Man, what are you on?" he panted, his face crumbling in pain when he tried to get to his feet without moving his hand. The guy smirked, but he didn't look at him. Instead, his gaze seemed to settle on something further away.

"You can come out now, Dru. Look what I got for you."

Unsure what to do, Kenny didn't have time to either act or react before the black clad man grabbed him by the throat and pulled him to his feet. He saw another person emerge from behind a tree.

"A present from daddy?" the woman said with a big grin, looking at the guy. Was woman the right way to describe her? She was definitely old enough, but somehow her big, dark eyes, gleaming with… what? Malice? That wasn't exactly right. Her gaze seemed absent, yet it was extremely focused and intense.

"Go ahead," the guy said, with a flick of his wrist flinging Kenny unceremoniously towards the woman. "I'm already full. The little girl of his was more satisfying than I thought she would be," he chuckled. Kenny fought to regain his footing and fear shot through his body at those words.

"What the hell did you do to Les?" he hissed, pain and fear momentarily suppressed by anger towards these people… or possibly _things_. The man gave him a dark look.

"Just eat him already, Dru," he said. "I have more important things to do." Kenny remained frozen in his position, pretty sure that he didn't want to know if the guy meant that literally.

When he turned around, he found himself standing face to face with something hideous. It looked like a mix between human and some sort of beast, or maybe a predator animal of some kind. He didn't even have time to collect himself enough to scream before the woman, who also was unbelievably strong, had grabbed him and bit him on the side of the neck. At first he felt a sharp pain shooting through him like fire, and then it faded. The world slowly became darker and darker, before he closed his eyes for the very last time.

Drusilla let the young man's dead body slump to the ground with a thud. She smiled and started walking around Angelus, looking at him, admiring him as if seeing him for the very first time.

"Daddy back," she said with awe in her voice. He smirked at her.

"That I am, Dru."

"Do you understand why I told you to go with the bald man now? I saw happy daddy. Saw it all in my pretty head. Do you like my pretty head?"

"It's nice," Angelus answered absently.

"Our family is gathering around the dinner table. There will be a party," Drusilla murmured. "I shall send the invitations."

"That's great, Dru. Look, why don't you enjoy yourself for a few hours. I have things to do. People to – _meet_."

* * *

_A/N: The observant reader will recognize Kenny and Les from the season 2 episode The Thin Dead Line. Remember, the two kids that got chased by a zombie cop and found shelter in Anne's teen center? _  



	24. ASSEMBLING THE SCOOBY GANG

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**CHAPTER 24: ASSEMBLING THE SCOOBY GANG**

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Giles hung up the phone, a deep scowl forming on his face and a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure that he had actually been able to comprehend everything Wesley had told him yet. The conversation had only lasted a few minutes, and during that time, so much had changed.

Buffy was back – she was alive and human again. That in itself was cause for joy, happiness, cheering and a late night trip to Los Angeles. Unfortunately, that wasn't the main reason as to why Wesley had called him in the middle of the night. It was Angel.

When Angel met her, he had, evidently, experienced his moment of true happiness and lost his soul… again. And now they were possibly standing on the brink of another killing rampage.

Dear Lord. How much damage would he do this time?

Giles sighed deeply and put his newly cleaned glasses back on his nose. Wesley had suggested that Giles, Willow, Xander and Anya should come to Los Angeles as soon as possible, for safety reasons, and Giles couldn't do much other than agree. They knew Angelus' battle strategies, his pattern by now and no matter what Willow should be high on his hit list.

Giles glanced at his watch. It had all happened a little over forty minutes ago. That meant that they could have less than an hour before Angelus arrived in Sunnydale depending on his determination and speed. That was if he had gone straight to Sunnydale - which he might not have, of course. A cunning, vicious creature like Angelus... who knew what his plans were this time?

While he dressed and gathered some of his stronger weapons, Giles couldn't get his mind off of Buffy. Wesley had sad that she was weak, and really, what else was to expect after this ordeal. Giles found himself angry with Wesley for the way he had acted tonight.

Not only had he performed a resurrection spell that might have done everything _besides_ bringing Buffy back if he had been unlucky, he had also failed to even see the possibility that meeting Buffy again would make Angel happy.

When he thought about it, he was angry with Angel as well for not being able to control himself. He realized that he couldn't reasonably have triggered the curse on purpose, but still.

It was childish of him, really, to throw around the blame like this. Perhaps it was a reaction to being shut out, not given any information whatsoever _before_ the world might once again be in peril.

Or perhaps he was just being petty. Either way, this was the time to let it all go and act, not react.

When he unlocked his car, he heard something. A sound in the bushes. The muffled sound of footsteps, a silent crackle from the vegetation when someone walked on it.

He froze dead in his tracks. Angelus couldn't possibly have gotten to Sunnydale in less than an hour, could he?

Giles raised his loaded crossbow and spun around.

"Whoa! Are we feeling a little jumpy tonight, eh?" The blond vampire glared at him and resolutely grabbed the arrow and pointed it away from his heart.

"You shouldn't sneak up on people like that," Giles muttered. "One day it might prove fatal."

"Feisty Watcher," Spike smirked. "Now, should I take that as a promise, or a threat?"

"However you like it."

"Hmm." Spike let his gaze roam over Giles. Everything, from smell of anxiety to badly groomed look and enough weapons to provide a small army, told him that something was up. And if there was – he wanted to know about it.

"So," he said, taking a step closer. "Where could you be going? Out slaying, or are you just heading to a… Nocturnal medieval weapon convent?"

Giles thought about simply telling Spike to sod off, but he restrained himself. He could be useful. Willow had her magic's, but except for that, they had no power whatsoever, should they encounter Angelus before arriving in L.A. Spike knew him, and was a good fighter – not as strong as Angelus, but far better than himself, Willow, Xander and Anya combined.

Well, maybe he could put up with him then. Even if he would never admit it out loud, Spike had actually been or valuable assistance after Buffy and Angel left Sunnydale. He would never tell anyone and he never accompanied Giles, Xander, Willow and Anya on patrol, but he did his share, slew fellow undead brothers for whatever reason.

"I'm going to Los Angeles," Giles said finally. "There is a problem there." Spike gave Giles a look.

"What, trouble on me ole sire's turf? How may that be, I thought the floaty-coat poofter could handle anything bad," Spike scoffed. The rough tough-guy attitude was a façade. After Spike had heard about Buffy… her death, he had mourned deeply, and hearing Angel's name inevitably stirred up unpleasant memories.

"Not when he _is_ the problem," Giles muttered.

"What's that?" Spike was pretty sure what Giles said, but he wanted to be sure.

"Apparently…" Giles had to push down his stirring anger before he continued. "The way I've heard it – he's lost his soul." Giles put his weapons within reach from his seat and got in the car. Spike didn't even wait until he was asked; he simply leaped inside the red convertible and sat down next to Giles.

"Again?" he asked with a frown. "How's that, he found a new little blonde to tramp around with? Huh. Honestly thought it would take longer." Giles remained silent for a few minutes.

"Hello?" Spike prodded. "Only one of us is a dead man here, you know. _Tell_ me."

"It's a long story," Giles muttered between his teeth as he steered the car into the parking lot outside Willow's frat house. He wasn't about to waste valuable minutes by telling Spike the whole story, not now anyway. He looked up at the long row of dark windows. Perhaps he should have called her first, he thought as he hurried inside and upstairs to her room.

"Willow?" he knocked on the door. "Willow, it's Giles." He waited a few seconds before he knocked again and soon he saw lights from inside the room and Willow opened the door, still in her night wear.

"Giles?" She murmured drowsily. "What are you… Is there something wrong?" He saw worry spread over her face when she realized that something must be very wrong for Giles to show up at her door in the middle of the night.

"You could say that. Dress and pack a few things quickly, we have to leave for Los Angeles immediately." Willow furrowed her brow.

"Los Angeles.?" she repeated suspiciously. LA meant Angel, and if there was a problem…

"And also… do you happen to have a copy of the curse lying around?" Giles held back a pained grimace.

"The curse? Oh. Oh!" Her eyes widened. "But, how…?"

"I'll tell you on the way, right now, we need to hurry."

In the matter of a few minutes Willow gathered a few things in a bag, along with the supplies for the curse that were available.

"I'm all set," she said. They hurried back to the car where Spike waited.

"By the look I guess you know," Spike said, studying Willow's pale face. She nodded shortly as she got in the car.

"Do you know more than I do? Did you tell _her_ the long version?" Spike complained, glaring at Giles.

"Stop being such a child," Giles snapped when he stepped on the gas, making a silent prayer that no policemen would be out looking for speeding drivers of red convertibles tonight.

"I got a call from Wesley just 20 minutes or so ago," he sighed finally. "Apparently… I mean, the way they told me… tonight they performed a resurrection spell, the same one that was used to bring back Darla."

"Let me guess. Peaches got himself killed and came back a little less than soulful?" Spikes suggested, a touch too perky for his own good.

"No," Giles said patiently, keeping the irritation from his voice. "They used it on Buffy." He met Willow's surprised gaze in the rear-view mirror. He hadn't told her this before for a reason. He knew what kind of emotions it would stir up in her – the very same he felt himself.

"And, er, well…"

"It worked," Willow whispered. "She's back."

"Yes," Giles confirmed. "She is." Spike whipped around, staring from Willow to Giles and back.

"She's alive? Buffy's alive?"

Giles gave him an odd look. The tone, instantly soft and vulnerable, wasn't what one would expect from William the Bloody, the feared killer that had spent years making his desire to kill the Slayer known. Then again, there was not really a secret anymore that something must have changed after that chip. Something more than simply not being able to kill and maim on a daily basis.

"Yes, so it seems. Alive, and also human." Giles smiled a little at the thought, but soon let it fade away. "Unfortunately, no one of Angel's friends saw fit to supervise Angel and Buffy when they first met again," he said bitterly.

"What happened?" Willow asked.

"I'll tell you what happened," Spike muttered. "They got right at it, eh? Straight on to the horizontal mambo. Makes me want to heave," he snorted, making sure he didn't expose anything else that could be interpreted as feelings for Buffy.

Giles closed his eyes for a second, slowly repeating to himself the reasons to why it was worth bringing Spike on the two hour ride to Los Angeles.

"No, apparently it was enough for him to see her again."

"Oh. Huh. Yeah, well, the bugger always was obsessed with her. Guess you know that."

"As you probably understand, the curse was triggered, and Angelus is loose again. Wesley told me that he walked out with a promise to correct his past wrongs, and he mentioned Willow. I think it's safe to assume he's talking about, erm… _preventing_ you from give him his soul back."

Giles glanced at Willow. She nodded slightly, her face somewhat pale. He understood her completely. That Angelus was loose again was bad enough – that he would possibly target Willow as a first victim this time… was even worse, to say it lightly.

They drove the rest of the way to Xander's home in silence. As soon as Giles stopped the car, Willow got out without and half ran inside the apartment building.

Giles gave her a compassionate look, and even Spike saw fit to keep his mouth shut. Perhaps he realized the dead gravity of what was to come, perhaps he was lost in the thought that Buffy was alive again, or perhaps he simply recognized that any smart comments from him would result in his swift and cruel deportation from the car.

Giles silently wondered how their lives had been today if Angel hadn't existed. It was one of those silly thoughts, futile comfort in a chaotic situation, and it was childish of him, but it didn't matter at the moment.

What if Buffy had killed Angelus the first time around, like she should have? He remembered her first encounter with him in the mall after they defeated the Judge – afterwards, she had told him that she had an opening to stake him, but she didn't take it. If she had, so many lives would have been spared. Jenny, Tara, Riley, Dawn, Joyce – not to mention all the innocent people they didn't know that he had killed. Jenny…

Giles sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. It was years ago now, three long years, but he still couldn't push away the mental picture he had of Jenny's stone cold dead face and her blank stare when he found her body that night. He had always done his best to hide it, but the hatred for Angel would never completely fade after that.

* * *

Anya was woken up by a loud knocking on the door. She looked over at Xander's sleeping form. She was a pretty light sleeper – and he wasn't. She grabbed his arm and shook him lightly. 

"Xander… there's someone by the door," she mumbled hazily. "Xander!"

He stirred and answered her without even opening his eyes. "Tell them to get lost," he said – or at least she was pretty sure that's what he said. He was talking with his face in the pillow and his voice was muffled.

"Maybe it's important," Anya suggested as she got up from bed. The frantic knocking continued.

"Xander!" they heard a voice from the door.

"It sounds like Willow. Either it's something important or you're having a not very discreet affair with her – either way you have to get up," Anya said resolutely and pulled away Xander's sheets. He groaned.

"You can't see her like that," Anya commented, indicating Xander's habit to sleep without any clothes on. "Unless you really _are_ having an affair with her."

Xander sat up and reached for his clothes. He glared at her. "An, just go open the door." Anya unlocked and opened the door. It was Willow alright, and she swept right past Anya without as much as a word.

"Willow, hello. You're interrupting our habitual sleeping pattern. If you think this is an appropriate time to visit people, I think you've spent too much time with Spike." Anya smiled. Willow didn't.

"Where is Xander? I need to talk to him, it's important."

"He's putting on his clothes. I told him it wouldn't be appropriate to open the door naked." A beat before she added. "Unless you two are having an affair?"

Willow frowned. "Huh? What? Gay now, remember."

"Yes, I know. That's good for you. But still, Xander is ruggedly handsome, and you never know…"

Fortunately, the conversation was interrupted by Xander who was coming from the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He turned on the lights in the living room and regretted that move when he was temporarily blinded before his eyes had gotten adjusted.

"Will. Something wrong, or did you just switch to vampire diurnal rhythm?" he murmured, at the moment not considering what might be wrong enough to drive Willow out of the bed and to knocking on his door in the middle of the night. That had happened once before, a few days after Buffy died. He had been in his bed, unable to sleep or even rest and she had knocked on the door, as much in despair as himself.

"No, and yes. I mean, yes, and no. There is something wrong. Wrong of the huge variety." Xander furrowed his brow.

"What is it?"

"There is problem in L.A. Wesley and Cordelia found this spell to resurrect a dead vampire." Xander shrugged, still half asleep and not quite comprehending.

"So?"

"Well, they used it, and it… it worked."

"Okay, so… Oh." His eyes widened. "They used it on Buffy."

Willow nodded slowly "She's alive again. They brought her back... and she's human."

A small smile crossed Xander's feature, growing larger when he thought about it. Buffy back, as in Buffy not dead anymore… as in alive again. Was this a dream? Because this dream, he recognized. He'd had it before.

But somewhere, deep down, he knew that it couldn't be that simple. Willow wouldn't come and bang on his door in the middle of the night to tell him this it there wasn't something wrong. Oh, no. Something must be wrong, seriously wrong. Before he dared to ask the question he had time to imagine everything from three legs and one eye to being sick and having no idea who she was, to something much like the unhappy Cave-Slayer… but permanently.

"That's great news," he said slowly. "Great news that could have waited till morning. What's wrong? Is there something wrong with her?"

"She's fine," Willow assured. "But… they told Angel."

Xander nodded, momentarily relieved. "Ah. He With The Power To Depress From Afar. Go all broody on them?"

"No, he was… happy."

Xander shrugged, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. "Well, may I say – duh! 'Hey man, you know that girl you are all obsessive about? Yeah, well, as you know she was dead, but she's not anymore, have a nice day.' What did they expect?"

Willow swallowed hard, preparing herself. She knew Xander, she knew how he felt about Angelus, she also knew that his impending freak out wouldn't help – it would only waste valuable minutes. "I mean, he was _really_ happy."

Xander's smile faded.

"He- he hasn't...he-he lost it?"

Anya stared at them. "Lost what? He got mad?"

"No, his soul, he lost his soul... Angelus," Willow explained quietly.

Even Anya understood that it wasn't time for one of her blunt remarks. "Ah. Oh."

Xander stood quiet for a moment, and then slammed his fist into the wall, making Anya and Willow flinch visibly "I told you so! I told you this would happen again – and again – and AGAIN!" He was practically yelling. "Now all of our lives are on the line again, and you know what? I'm sick of it."

Willow looked at him. She understood his anger, but it wouldn't do them any good.

"Xander, this isn't fun for any of us, but we have to do something – fast. Angelus could be on his way here right now," she said in a small voice. Her body tensed up when she realized that her words were completely true Angelus might very well be on his way to Sunnydale right now – and if he was, that would probably mean that she was his first target.

She had never been hunted before… not like that. It wasn't a pleasant thought.

Xander snorted. "Why? His interest is in L.A. I'm sure he'll find a new way to kill Buffy."

"He wants to stop me from performing the curse again," Willow said quietly.

Xander fell silent, suddenly feeling very guilty. That was insensitive and stupid of him. He hadn't even stopped and considered that the one to be targeted first this time might be Willow, not Buffy. After all Willow was the one with the real power against Angelus – the power to re-ensoul him.

"Will… Sorry. I'm so sorry. I just… I'm sick of seeing the people I care about get hurt because of him."

Willow attempted a smile. "I know. Now, gather some things, we're going to L.A. to make things right."


	25. THE PRICE OF LIFE

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* * *

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**CHAPTER 25: THE PRICE OF LIFE**

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* * *

**

Wesley slowly tiptoed into the living room where Buffy still sat in the couch, curled up like a ball. She looked small and fragile. Wearing Cordelia's clothes that were at least a few sizes to large increased the small look. She didn't even look at him when he stopped, standing behind the couch just feet away from her. He cleared his throat.

"Buffy…" he began. He wasn't sure what to say. He couldn't expect her to participate in the fight against Angelus – not now, when she was emotionally and physically too weak. Still, he would have to persuade her to go with him to his apartment, where she would be at least a little safer from him.

"Buffy," he said again.

"What, Wes?" she answered. She raised her head and looked at him with, her face streaky with tears.

"We need… uh, you need to get out of here. Cordelia doesn't, uh, she doesn't have all the ingredients to perform a de-invitation spell here." A pause. "You're not safe here." She looked down again.

"So? Doesn't matter either way. He'll kill me again. At least it will all stop." She looked up at him, and could have kicked herself for the guilty, pained look that crossed his face. Couldn't she do anything right? Why did she sound like an ungrateful, spoiled brat every time she tried to express her feelings?

"Buffy, you don't mean that."

"Don't I?" Her voice was harsh, as she let her fear and desperation manifest as anger. "You brought me back to help Angel, and if you haven't noticed, he's not around any more. He's gone again, because of _me_."

Wesley opened his mouth to protest, but he didn't find anything appropriate to say. That was how she viewed it, and frankly, he couldn't come up with something to say that would convince her otherwise.

No matter if he told her that he was just as responsible, being one of three people to stand on the side when she and Angel were reunited, or Angel himself, of the gypsies that cursed him… it wouldn't matter. She would still blame herself, and he couldn't change it. Once again he found himself powerless and lacking in the areas he was supposed to be so good at.

"We'll curse him again. We'll make it right." Wesley said, wanting so badly to be able to fulfill his promise.

"Yeah, and then everything will be fine, right? At least until the next time I make him too happy."

Wesley didn't answer. He sighed deeply and sat down in the couch opposite her. She had a point, and he truly understood how hopeless she must feel, but they couldn't afford to dwell on that right now.

"What I just can't figure out is… what's the point?" Buffy said, ending the uncomfortable silence. She didn't look back at him when he looked at her, she just studied her hands and seemed heartbreakingly small and vulnerable. Wesley swallowed.

"The point of what?"

"Living and loving. Trying. Because, that's the price, isn't it? Your humanity. Sooner or later, you will have it ripped from you, one way or another. So – what's the point of even trying, then?"

"Because…" Wesley sighed as he thought about her words. The old Wesley Wyndham-Pryce might have given her a tiresome and dashy speech about commitment and duties. But the new Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, he knew better.

"Because there are things worth living for. For better and for worse, and no matter how downright awful it can get sometimes… life is beautiful." Buffy looked up at him slowly, wanting to believe, wanting to trust him.

"I have found that it's a little hard to explore the_ beautiful_ life when you're a Slayer with an obsessed, insane vampire out to torture you," she said, a hint of bitterness, of sadness, in her voice. Wesley nodded seriously.

"You're right. But then, in the hardest of times… there are friends." He put his hand over hers for a moment in a friendly motion. "Friends who care for you… friends who believe in you, and are able to see, perhaps even when you fail to see it yourself, how precious your life really are." He gave her a reassuring look.

"Trust me." She looked up at him, her eyes red and teary, before she looked down again, wiped away her tears and nodded quickly.

"So where are we going?" she asked after a moment. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"To my flat, where Angel doesn't have an invitation. It won't take long to get there." Buffy nodded.

"Okay," she whispered. "Now?"

"Yes, I'll just get Cordelia and Gunn." Wesley walked into the kitchen.

"She's ready to go," he said to the two figures sitting at the table, staring into space.

"Good, can't wait to get to a vampire-proof place," Cordelia stated. "Are you sure Giles will find his way to your apartment in the city?" Wesley's expression was blank for a moment.

"Damn it!" he cursed. Cordelia stiffened.

"What now?"

"I... I rather think I never came to give him my address." Cordelia frowned.

"Why? We'd already talked about going to your apartment when you called him."

Wesley shook his head. "I know. I don't know… It's been a long day." He frowned to himself. "A really long day."

Despite the somberness of the moment, Cordelia couldn't resist the urge to get back at Wesley for his remarks before. She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled deeply. "Well, I for one think it's more than a little incautious to give him the wrong address," she said in a voice that was meant resemble British. Wesley glared at her.

"Well, aren't you a snooty devil? If you had only had the _basic_ supplies at home, we wouldn't have had to relocate!"

"All right, all right." Gunn made a T with his hands, gesturing a time out. "Good thinking, bickering will make things better, right? Wes, why don't you just call Giles and give him your address now?"

Wesley shrugged, dejected. "I'm not sure if either he or any of the others even own a cellphone… If they do, I don't have their numbers. I could always call them at home, but chances are they have already left…" he trailed off. Gunn nodded.

"Okay, then I and Cordy stay here and wait for them and you go with Buffy to your place." Cordelia stared at him.

"Hitting the pause button here. That would mean that I would be left here where Angelus can get in, right?" Cordelia looked from Gunn to Wesley and sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. What were the odds that Angelus would come back, anyway? "Right, okay," she said. "We'll stay."

He was probably already on his merry way back to Sunnydale.

-

* * *

- 

The truck driver Larry was on his way to deliver merchandise to Wal-mart in Los Angeles. There wasn't much traffic on the smaller roads leading into the city at this time of day – that was one of the luxuries of driving during the night shift. By the time that his truck would be hot as an oven and his time wasted in the first of many rush hours if he was driving later – he would be home in his bed.

Larry was sitting with one hand idly on the steering wheel, adjusting the radio with his other hand. For a moment he even let go of the wheel completely to adjust his worn baseball cap.

If he hadn't been so busy with the radio, he would have seen the dark clad man standing in the road soon enough to break. As it was, he spotted him way too late.

"What the hell…?" The man was standing in the middle of the road with his hands in his pockets, looking straight at Larry. Looking at him as if he was expecting his arrival.

Larry leaned on the horn to warn the guy and any fellow road users that his vehicle would stop and possibly skid on the rain wet road. He stepped as hard as he could on the breaks and heard his tires screech. He felt the large truck yank to the side. The guy still didn't move, not until just a few seconds before the truck was about to pass him. Larry avoided colliding directly with anything, but he did scrape the side of a parked car. As soon as the truck was completely still, Larry got out and hurried up to the idiot guy that was responsible.

To Larry's surprise, the guy was strolling towards him and the truck – completely relaxed, still with the hands in his pockets.

"What the hell are you doing? Idiot! Do you realize what could have happened?" Anger overpowering sense at the moment, Larry didn't even stop and consider the possibility that this guy might be someone he didn't want to meet up close. He stopped and glared at the man.

Strange, he didn't look like the street trash that could be amused by almost making a truck collide, and he didn't look like someone that was suicidal. If they actually had a special look… When the man raised his gaze, Larry was taken aback by his dark, cold eyes.

"Look," he said more calmly. "I don't want any trouble, but it's not my truck, alright, and I'm responsible for bringing it back intact. We do this the friendly way, you pay for my damages, or I'm gonna have to call the police. It's you choice." The man smiled at him.

"You're right. I do have a choice here… Do I eat you, or just kill you?" Larry frowned, too surprised to actually react.

"What?" The guy frowned slightly as if considering his choice carefully.

"Hmm. I'm not really hungry. And just look at you, your blood must be simmering with grease and cheap beer. No, I think I'll settle for killing you."

Larry shook his head. "I'm calling the police." He started digging for his cell phone in his pocket, his hand shaking.

The guy chuckled, either not hearing or ignoring him. "Then again, it's so much more fun if it _looks _like a vampire death. Then maybe even little Katie will come look at the scene, that'd be fun." Larry heard an unrecognizable sound and saw something that he wouldn't have believed if it hadn't happened in front of his eyes. The man's face changed – demonic ridges appeared on his forehead and he grew… fangs. Fangs? And was the guy saying _vampire_?

Was he having a bad dream? Had he fallen asleep behind the wheel? Before he could form another thought, the guy leapt up to him, grabbed him, and he felt a sharp pain in his neck. The cellphone fell to the ground with a crack.

After drinking only a few pints of the blood, Angelus stopped and twisted the guy's neck instead. That was bad, really bad. Judging by the stale taste, the guy was probably an alcoholic, and all that fat really tainted the taste. Still, now it looked like a vampire death, but he would have to give a special sign to Kate for this plan to unfold.

He considered it for a moment, then pulled out a small knife from his pocket and carved a cross into the truck driver's left cheek. There. Not to original, unfortunately, but it would serve its purpose. He smirked and dragged the guy off the road – it would be a pity if he was flattened before Kate had time to see him.

Angelus got in to the truck and drove away.

* * *

Cordelia was sitting on the couch, leaned back but still tense as a spring, ready to leap out of her seat if she heard something. She glanced at the crosses and stakes stacked up on her living room table, and at Gunn, who was killing time by organizing them by size. She sighed deeply. It would be dawn in a few hours. The last few days had been long. Really, really long. And they were far from done yet. A boatload of stakes weren't going to do the trick here. 

She flipped idly through a magazine she had in her hands, but she didn't even see the text on the pages. How did things go so wrong? How did the heroic deed turn into this? She was stupid. They were all stupid. They should have just let Angel take care of himself. He had for hundreds of years, after all. Why had they thought that their intervention would make things better now?

She jumped in her seat when she heard a knock on the door.

"Finally," Gunn muttered, getting up with a last look at his army of stakes. Just as he was about to unlock the door, Cordelia cleared her throat.

"Hello? What if that's Angelus outside? Gunn frowned.

"Why would he knock?"

"Well, I…" she faltered. "Because it's unexpected? Who would think that he would knock, right?" Gunn sighed.

"Right, right. Who is it?" he asked loudly. Cordelia got behind him, listening carefully for sounds that shouldn't be there.

"It's just us." They heard Giles voice from outside. Gunn looked knowingly at Cordelia.

"See?" He opened the door and stepped aside. Giles, Willow, Anya and Xander hurried themselves inside. Cordelia grabbed the door to slam it shut, only to hear a disapproving voice outside. A disapproving, British voice.

"Hey, what are you doing, you sodding bint!" She furrowed her brow. Now, that voice could only come from one person that she knew of… Not a person even, actually.

"Spike?" She opened the door again and studied him. Why had he come? Was it a good thing? Whose side was he on, anyway? She knew that he had been forced away from enjoying his killing and torturing parts of life when he got his chip - but except for the time spent in Sunnydale a few months back, she didn't know his new self very well. She had known the evil, trying-to-kill-Buffy and torture-Angel-to-get-his-stupid-invulnerability-gem a lot longer. It was hard to view him as a good guy of any rate.

"Really nice of you to invite a fella," he muttered. Cordelia frowned. He almost sounded nervous. About what? When he spoke she felt the thick reek of cigarette smoke. Actually a little of that smell came off all of them. Had he been smoking in the car? Was it because he was an undead chain-smoker or because he really was nervous?

And if he was... was it about facing Angelus again… or about Buffy being back?

"Oh, um, sorry," she said simply. "You still have the chip in your brain, right?" Spike shook if his shifty look and smirked.

"Now, why don't you invite me and find out?"

"It's okay Cordy, he's still… impotent," Willow said.

"Hey." Spike glared.

"Come in." Cordelia waved him inside and closed the door. Giles looked around.

"Where is Buffy? I thought you'd all be here." Cordelia nodded as she eyed him. He looked tired, yet wide-awake, and the clothes he wore had clearly been thrown on. Xander held his arms around himself as if he was cold and Anya, anything but her usual cheery self, sat down lightly on the edge of a chair. So the Scooby Gang was reassembled, mostly. And each and every one of them knew that this wasn't going to be a walk in the park.

"Yeah, there's been a tiny mistake… See, Wesley gave you my address without a thought about Angelus being invited here… So he took Buffy to his apartment. Since you don't have that address we stayed behind and waited for you."

"Cordelia 'I-had-to-talk-my-grandmother-into-switching-cars-with-me' Chase is willing to stay in the one place where Angel has an invitation? Let's start calculating those odds, people," Xander said. She shot him an evil glare, but realized that he wasn't cracking a witty joke. He looked sad and worried and a little surprised that she would make such a self-sacrifice… but he wasn't joking.

"Yeah, well. Things change," she said shortly. "You didn't by any chance see Angelus on the way over here?"

"No," Giles assured her. "We haven't seen him." Cordelia nodded and frowned. Should it worry her that he hadn't been seen or heard from in hours? He wasn't exactly the discreet type, and if he was working under radar, there must be a reason for it.

"Hmm," she murmured. "I wonder where he's at… Maybe we're lucky and he's in Sunnydale, looking for you," she suggested, not really believing it herself.

"Perhaps," Giles said, changing the subject. "If there's not a problem, I would very much like to see Buffy and talk to Wesley as soon as possible."

"Sure, let me just get my coat." Cordelia sympathized with the ex watcher. Buffy was the closest thing he had to a daughter, and he probably didn't view Wesley as the person most fit to keep her safe from Angelus… He was bound to be worried.

Of course, he really had nothing to be worried about, Wesley and Buffy was in an apartment where Angelus couldn't get in – they were safe, unlike some people. Unlike _them_ for instance.

Just as they were about to leave, Cordelia's telephone rang.

"Oh, wait, just let me get that. It could be Wesley." She answered the phone.

"Hello? Yes, I'm Cordelia Chase. Yes, I am." A pause. "He is. Yeah. Uh-huh." Giles, Spike, Willow, Xander, Anya and Gunn all watched her expectantly from the door.

"What?" Cordelia went pale. "How is he? W-what…. What happened to him? Okay, and what about the girl that was with him?" She swallowed, then said in a small voice. "Alright, thanks." She hung up and turned to the six people that expected her to explain what the hell that call was about. She swallowed hard, preparing to inform them of the latest portion of bad news.

"It's about Wesley… That was the hospital. There's been an accident."


	26. SCULLY THE BELIEVER

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**CHAPTER 26: SCULLY THE BELIEVER**

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The rhythmic creaking of the windscreen wipers was the only sound in the car.

Wesley wasn't sure he had seen as much rain during a whole year in Los Angeles as on this night. He glanced at the sky. The sun would rise in an hour or so, maybe an hour and a half, but he wouldn't know that only by looking at the sky. It was as impenetrably steel gray as it had been the whole night.

Wesley looked at Buffy in the rear-view mirror. She sat in the back seat, staring into space. He wasn't sure if he should try to talk to her or just leave her alone. Her face gave him no guidance either. He sighed. He wasn't better at communicating with Buffy now than when he had been her Watcher.

If _Giles_ had been here, he would have known what to say, how to act, what to do to make her feel better. During his time as Watcher, he had been jealous and frustrated when Buffy would follow Giles' advice rather than his. He was the one with the knowledge after all – Giles had been kicked from the Council because he had been found inadequate to control and guide his Slayer.

But somewhere down the line, maybe when he had been forced to go back to the group and tell them that Faith had escaped and was at large once again, or perhaps when he had witnessed the dangerous but carefully laid out act Angel and Buffy had staged to reveal Faith's cooperation with the Mayor… or maybe it was even later, he had realized that he had nothing. All his knowledge and marks of distinction meant nothing in the real world. In the real world a so called insufficient Watcher such as Giles constituted invaluable support for the Slayer and he, he was merely a burden.

A lot had changed during the past year. It seemed so long ago. But what never had changed very much was his relationship with Buffy. They didn't know each other very well. And the knowledge of that led Wesley to the conclusion that anything he would say would only sound forced and stupid. Instead he kept quiet and concentrated on the driving.

At least Buffy would be fairly safe in his apartment until the reinforcement arrived from Sunnydale.

Further down the road he saw something… something that bothered him. A large vehicle driving in the opposite direction, going very fast. That was nothing unusual – the truck drivers were often driving fast at this time of day, anxious to end their shift. But this…

Wesley concentrated on the truck. Wasn't it… He was pretty sure that it was… Yes, it was definitely driving on the wrong side. He stiffened. The truck was moving very quickly straightly towards him. There was no chance of driving out of the way here. They were practically alone on the road. Perhaps he could steer to the side of the road and stop there until the truck passed?

Buffy noticed that Wesley slowed down.

"Wesley? What is it?"

"I… I don't know. Probably nothing, but just to be safe, hold on to something."

Wesley tried to flash his full beam to get the other drivers attention. That only made the truck increase in speed. Wesley was beginning to panic and fought to keep his calm. He considered changing lanes himself, but realized that if the truck driver actually was aiming for him… He would follow. Besides, there was the apparent risk of meeting another unfortunate driver if he drove in the wrong path as well.

There wasn't many seconds left now. Wesley stepped on the breaks and steered out of the way, hoping that the truck driver wouldn't do the same thing. He heard screeching tires, from his own car and from the truck. He saw the truck skid to the side – or was it his car? – and got a glimpse of the truck's break lights. The cars weren't moving very fast now, but the breaking distance was almost doubled due to the water on the road.

The last thing Wesley saw before the world went black was the side of the truck, and there was a horrible sound of crumbling metal when the front of his car was completely ruined crashing into it.

-

* * *

- 

Angelus got out of the truck and studied the wonderful mess. His calculations had been right and the cars had collided with just the right speed. The backseat was unharmed and the fuel tanks on both cars seemed to be intact as he couldn't smell any gasoline. Admittedly it had been someting of a long shot, but he had been lucky. He eyed the wreck.

Wesley was pinned in his seat and slumped over the wheel, his glasses cracked, blood trickling from a cut over his eyebrow. Bruised, but still alive. That was good. I he was ever to kill Wesley, he could think of a hundred ways more fitting than having him die in a car accident. The indirect way of killing people didn't suit Angelus.

Killing people without using the hands-on approach was the simpering soul's way of eliminating people he didn't like without teasing the inner, constantly bloodthirsty demon that he was so afraid of loosing control over. A vampire, fighting his inner demon? It was ridiculous and perverted. Angelus was surprised the simpering do-gooder hadn't started a little support group for demons that wanted to change... That would suit him.

Angelus walked around the car to get to the right backdoor. He heard Buffy's heart rate speed up when she saw him draw close and he saw her yank her seatbelt that had gotten jammed in the crash. Angelus noted that Cordelia and Gunn weren't in the car with them. Honestly, he would have expected them to, and it would have been convenient to render them all harmless in one strike, but it didn't matter. They weren't a threat, and when they got word of what had happened to Wesley, he and Buffy would be long gone.

Buffy was trying to reach a crossbow stuck in the front seat when Angelus opened the door, but her efforts were useless as long as she was held back by the seatbelt. When he reached to grab her she tried to hit him but he easily blocked her moves.

It was pathetic, really. Was this all that was left of Buffy, fearless Vampire Slayer? A little girl, weak and unarmed. He chuckled at her and saw rage spread over her face. Right now she was so weak that she probably wouldn't have been able to faze him if she had been in a better position, able to land her full strength on more sensitive parts than his arms and upper body.

What he didn't count on, however, was Buffy channeling her anger by pulling out a dagger from who-the-hell-knew-where and stabbing him viciously in the arm. He hissed and pulled back the arm instinctively. It was a minor stab wound really, but it was still bleeding profusely and it dripped freely onto the ground. Oh, well. He used the knife to cut her seatbelt and threw it aside.

She cried out when he grabbed her, from pain and anger. He couldn't smell any flowing blood from her, but she was probably a little sore and aching from the crash.

Angelus could hear sirens at a distance. Someone must have seen or heard the crash, and he wasn't really keen on having to kill some herd of paramedics right now, since it would give Buffy an excellent opportunity to run.

He put pressure over her throat and felt her struggling arms and legs get weaker by the second. It didn't take long before she went limp in his arms. He loaded her into the truck, backed away from the car wreck and took off.

-

* * *

- 

To the casual observer, the seven people of various age and style rushing in to the emergency room at St. Matthews hospital together were probably an interesting sight. Cordelia was the first one to arrive at the counter, closely followed by Giles and Spike.

"Where is Wesley?" she said, panting after running up the stairs.

This hospital was giving her the freaks. It was the same one as she and Wesley had been admitted to last year – him after the explosion in Angel's old building and she with multiple killer-visions. What were the odds of that, huh? She shuddered. She didn't remember much from that time, luckily, except for the pain and fear… and she remembered that she had actually hoped that she would die at one point, just to end the pain.

Well, this was no time to reminisce.

"Excuse me?" the single nurse working behind the counter said without even looking at her.

"Wesley. Wyndham. Pryce." Cordelia said slowly. Did the idiot need for her to spell it out? "Someone called me about him fifteen minutes ago. Where is he?"

The nurse tapped her keyboard and eyed the monitor.

"Are you Cordelia Chase?"

"Yes."

"Ah. Mr. Wyndham-Pryce is in the intensive care unit." Cordelia nodded.

"How is he?" The nurse eyed her suspiciously.

"Are you family?"

"Yes!" Cordelia hissed.

"Alright. He's stable at the moment, but still unconscious. He has a few broken ribs, a serious concussion and an injury to his spine, which may have affected his spinal cord, but there's no telling how serious it is until he wakes up."

Cordelia's stomach tied up. If she and Gunn had followed him, maybe this wouldn't have happened. Or maybe it would have, and she and Gunn would also lie like broken and bruised cucumbers, hooked up to beeping machines. She shuddered again. This place was giving her the heebie-jeebies.

"I want to see him."

"I'm afraid that's not possible, but family and close friends are welcome for a short visit later today during our visiting hours. Cordelia felt like strangling the nurse. She wanted to see him now. See how he was, make sure his room had eastern exposure… Before she had time to say anything, Giles stepped forward.

"What happened to the girl that was with him?" he asked. The nurse looked back at the screen and shook her head.

"There was no girl brought in together with him." Giles felt panic rise like bile in the back of his throat.

"What do you mean? She was with him, she has to be here!"

"I'm sorry." Giles glared at her for a few moments, but quickly realized that it was useless. She had no reason to lie. If she said that Buffy hadn't been brought in with Wesley… then she hadn't been. There were several possible scenarios that could have occurred. None of them pleasant.

Discouraged the group retreated from the counter to confer.

"Okay, let me begin by asking the obvious question. Where the hell is Buffy?" Xander looked worried.

"Maybe she was thrown out of the car or something?" Willow suggested. "Oh god, maybe she is lying beside the road, and…"

"Not likely." Giles cut off. He shook his head. "If there was an accident, they would have found her when they rescued Wesley. I think it's safe to assume that she… er, that she is…" he faltered. What was the point of trying to convince them something that wasn't true? They couldn't safely assume anything at this point.

"Maybe she's at Wesley's already," Gunn suggested. "It doesn't have to be any more complicated than that, right? Maybe he dropped her off and had to do something by himself?"

"Yeah! That's probably it," Cordelia agreed. She wasn't convinced herself, but it was a more comforting scenario than the other, which Anya wasn't late to remind them of.

"What if Angelus has her?"

"But how?" Willow asked her.

"Maybe he arranged the accident," Anya said, shrugging lightly. "Wouldn't be surprising, right?"

"No, that's not possible," Cordelia said, not sounding quite as convincing as she meant to be. "Angel's car would be trashed if he collided with Wesley's, and he wouldn't sacrifice it just like that. Besides, he would risk being hurt too. One flame and he turns into an undead torch, right? Don't know about you, but I really don't think he would want that."

"Bloody well right," Spike commented, fumbling for his cigarettes. "The bugger's beyond vain, just look at the amount of hair gel he uses. And – leather pants? What is he, a rock star?" Spike laughed to himself. "You damn well know he's not if you've heard him sing…"

"This coming from Captain Peroxide, consumer of nail polish?" Xander scoffed.

"He wears lifts, you know," Spike muttered, lighting a cigarette.

"Maybe he didn't use his car," Anya continued. "Or maybe he, I don't know, sent a cow into the road to make Wesley collide, or maybe he fiddled with the breaks – I've seen people do that in the movies."

"Anya's right," Xander commented. "This is too much of a coincidence to _not_ have anything to do with Angelus."

"You don't know that," Willow tried to argue.

"The hell I do!" Xander burst out. "How often has Angelus_ not_ been the reason to everything bad happening?" It came out harsher than he meant it too, and Willow looked hurt. He immediately regretted his harsh tone, but he didn't take it back – because he meant it. In his opinion, assuming that anyone else than Angelus was responsible for this so called accident was as naively as it would have been to assume that anyone else than Angelus had killed Ms. Calendar when Giles found her body.

"Let's… er, let's find out," Giles suggested. He stepped towards the nurse again.

"Excuse me, do you have the details on the accident our friend was involved with?" She shook her head and looked over at Spike with a suspicious look.

"You can't smoke in here!" He stared at her.

"Says who?"

"There is a sign right behind you." Spike exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't care."

"I apologize," Giles cut in, cursing inwardly for Spike's behavior. The last thing they needed was being escorted out by security. "I think we're all under some pressure here, and we'll be on our way in a moment… if you could just tell me what you know about the accident. Any details might be of help." The nurse didn't look very pleased, but after a moment's thought she shrugged and looked back at her screen.

"According to a witness report he collided with a truck driving in the wrong direction." Giles swallowed.

"What about the other driver?"

"I don't know anything about that, sir, but there were only one car present at the scene when paramedics arrived." Giles had to force himself to keep his voice steady.

"I see. Do you, perhaps have the address where the accident occurred?" She nodded shortly and scribbled down the name of a street on a piece of paper. Giles thanked her quickly and returned to the group.

"Let's go and look at the scene."

"Wait, what about Wesley?" Cordelia asked. "We can't just leave him here alone. What if he comes back?" There was no need to specify who "he" was.

"Not long till sunrise," Spike said. "I should know."

"Angelus doesn't need long," Cordelia said solemnly. "Someone has to stay here."

"I'll do it," Gunn offered. "If the bastard comes here and tries something, I'll make a hell of a scene."

"You can actually just threaten him to make a scene," Xander suggested. "It works." Gunn frowned, clueless about what he was referring to.

"Y'all go on, time's a wastin'," he said. "I'll snoop out where Wes is and play watchdog."

"Good." Cordelia smiled a little. "Thanks."

-

* * *

- 

The detectives already present at the crime scene looked at Kate with amusement as she passed the yellow tape and approached the body. She glared back at them with a hard expression.

Of course, she knew why they looked at her, the source of their amusement. This wasn't the first or second time she showed up on a case that wasn't assigned to her with the excuse that it "looked interesting".

14 months or so ago, her life had changed. _He_ had changed her life by opening up a door to a whole new world that few people even knew existed. The first few times she showed up uninvited, the guys had just chuckled under breath, calling her an over-ambitious workaholic that wouldn't be able to keep up her pace for a month. Well, she had proved them wrong.

Nowadays, she was the weird detective at the station, known for her interest in obscure, strange cases. Supernatural, as some called them mockingly. The talk among the other officers included everything from Kate watching too much X-files to straightly being insane, but it didn't bother her.

Okay, it did, sometimes… sometimes she missed being happily unaware. Sometimes she missed taking reports that said "homicide victim, major neck wounds, death due to loss of blood" and putting them in the back of her folder. Those had been more or less unsolvable cases before. There were no witnesses, no evidence, no pattern and the killings always occurred at night.

Nowadays, she knew just what it was and what sort of creature that were behind such deaths. The question was, did it make her happier to know? Did she feel better knowing that the creatures robbing human beings of their lives were undead monsters? Had it been easier to accept her fathers death if she hadn't known who – what, was behind it?

No. It hadn't. And she wasn't happier knowing, at least not anymore. After a year of chasing creatures she had really no business taking care of, she was tired. The land of denial seemed like a very nice alternative to this. The fact that she was not still in it… well, that she blamed _him_ for.

This case had been described as so many of them that she wouldn't have had a clue how do name correctly before; victim with neck wounds, loss of blood… In this case also a broken neck which was a little out of the ordinary, but the verdict was still the same; obvious vampire attack. Kate's attention was, however, not drawn to the case solely because of that fact. The real reason was because the victim supposedly had religious markings on his body.

After nodding shortly at the officers standing next to the body, she bent down and uncovered it. The man was in his late fifties, heavily built and probably a truck driver, going by his outfit and the fact that there had been witness reports of a truck scraping a parked car not far from the scene. The truck, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Kate tilted his head to the side and saw the marking. It was a cross, carved into his left cheek. She furrowed her brow. That was a little too specific for comfort. The last time she had seen something like that, one of Angel's makings had been the perpetrator. What did this mean? Was this the work of yet another relative – was the right word for vampires? – to Angel and his bloodsucking clan?

It couldn't possibly be Angel himself that had done this? She frowned to herself. No. She had a lot to say about him, but she didn't think that he would be doing something like this. Not the Angel she knew, at least. She recalled the stories of Angelus… one hell of a brutal bastard. But wasn't that version of the brooding vampire of the past?

She sighed deeply. Either way, it looked like she was going to have to seek the vampire once more. She remembered the last time she had seen him, it was when he walked out on her with a menacing remark after his building blew up. She hadn't heard anything from him since, and she had never had any desire to… But now, it seemed that she really had no choice.


	27. THE LUNATIC, THE LOVER, THE POET

_A/N: Okay, now I'm pissed. Apparently you can't trust the Document Manager anymore. I uploaded the chapters and edited them one last time… but when published, the changes were gone! From now on I think I'll be doing all my editing before I upload the documents…  
_

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**CHAPTER 27: THE LUNATIC, THE LOVER, THE POET**

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"This is the street. Look, there is crime scene tape over there, that must be the place."

As if things hadn't been bad enough before, Giles thought to himself when he parked his car on the side of the road. How had things gone this bad, this fast? Last night he had gone to bed after a very normal, common day. Working in the Magic Box with Anya during the day, an hour or two of patrolling with Willow, Xander and Anya at night.

He had gone to bed and felt at ease. Now it was almost dawn and things couldn't be much worse. Angelus was back, and at large. Buffy was alive again, and possibly – well, probably, kidnapped by Angelus. God knew what he was doing to her. He felt his stomach tied up when he realized that they might already be too late. She might already be dead again… and worse.

"Leave the top up, will you," Spike muttered, lighting another cigarette. Giles sighed.

"You can't smoke in here," he stated automatically.

"Did all the way over here, didn't I?" The vampire puffed a cloud of smoke. "Should be careful with what you say to me. I'm invaluable help."

"Well, if you're so invaluable, come on out and look at the tracks with the rest of us."

"Could do that. But see, it's stopped raining and the sun is on its way up. That makes for a bad equation for a creature of the night."

Giles shook his head, slammed his door shut and went over to the rest of the gang that were standing around the place that seemed to be the actual spot where the collision happened. A few pieces of crumbled metal, broken glass and tire tracks were the only things that revealed what had gone down here, just little over an hour ago.

"Guys," Willow said. "Look." She indicated a red spot on the ground. Definitely blood.

"Ah, nice. Fresh blood, my favorite." Cordelia grimaced. "Wonder whose it is?" Cordelia said. "Now, where is a bloodhound when you need one…?" She went over to Giles' car and knocked resolutely on the window. "Spike, work for you," she stated, leaving no room for argument. Muttering something incoherent he stepped out of the car, watching the sky carefully. He could be outside a few more minutes without danger.

"Take a big whiff," Cordelia said, gesturing at the ground. "Identify the owner."

"What am I? Sodding bloodhound?"

"Just what I was saying. Not shoot, before I put a collar with a little bell around your neck." Spike shrugged, flicked away his cigarette butt and bent down far enough to touch the bloodstain with his hand.

"So what's the verdict, bleach boy?" Xander asked, failing to hide his anxiousness. "Is it Buffy's?"

"Nope."

"You don't know whose it is?" Spike frowned.

"Yeah, I do. It's Angel's."

Giles furrowed his brow. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"This is good, right?" Willow looked from Spike to Giles. "I mean, isn't it?"

Giles nodded and allowed himself a small smile. "That means that she at least hurt him. I knew she couldn't be that weak."

"But she's not here, which means that he must have taken her somewhere," Cordelia commented. Giles nodded in agreement.

"Cordelia, out of everyone here you know the city the best. Do you have any idea where he might have gone?" Cordelia furrowed her brow. She knew some of Angel's haunts, that was right – but the soulless persona was a whole different story. Where would Angelus go? It all depended on whether he wanted to be found or stay hidden. If he didn't want them to find him… well, then she had a sinking feeling that they wouldn't.

"My safest bet is the hotel," she said finally. "Of course he might have gone anywhere, it's a big city, and if he doesn't want to be found…" she trailed off.

"So let's look at our options here," Xander said. "Either we go to the hotel, or we comb through the entire city and hope he's hiding under the first out of 6 million people we happen to look under. Who else is for starting at the hotel?"

"Yeah," Spike said. "I'll have to go with lackbrain on this one. Especially since I'll become sodding toast if I'm out much longer."

-

* * *

- 

Buffy opened her eyes slowly. It felt like her body had been mangled. Every muscle in her body seemed to be aching or throbbing, and her hands were numb. That last part probably due to the fact that she was chained to the bed…

The bed?

She sat up and looked around. She didn't know this place – which might be because it was dark, dank and… collapsed. She could barely see the door as a beam covered it. The walls were sooty and the air very heavy. When she inhaled deeply she felt like sneezing and coughing, but she didn't want to make any sounds by doing either until she knew where she was.

And of course – where he was.

She looked at the walls. She had a vague feeling of having seen this place before, but she couldn't seem to place it. If she could only break her restraints she would get up and look out the window… She moved her hands and heard the chains clang against the headboard on the bed. Okay. Bad idea. She heard footsteps outside the room. So he had heard her – well, that figured. She looked around in hope of finding a weapon of some kind, but of course, there weren't any.

He entered. He moved the beam to the side, uncovering the door, and sat down lightly on burnt chair. He watched her, and she watched him back.

Greetings and comments seemed superfluous. They had been in this situation before – too many times. She kept her gaze steady and stared into his dark eyes. Oh, how she hated this creature. He must feel her disgust and rage, because he smiled, ever so slightly, and that only spurred her.

He _enjoyed_ this. He enjoyed every bit of discomfort he could cause her. When he killed her mother, it wasn't the kill or the blood he enjoyed the most – it was watching her in pain. In anger, hatred and fear. How would she ever be rid of him?

He was eternal, and she never seemed to be able to kill him. Right now, she actually felt mentally able. If she had the chance, she would be prepared to spare herself and her friends the suffering and horror it meant to have him around.

_If _she had the change. She didn't. Right now she wasn't mentally unable, but physically. And chained to the bed. His bed? This wasn't his… formerly their room in the hotel, she was sure of it. Of course it might be another room. She hadn't seen all of them. And Wes and Cordy had told her that he had changed a lot… well, before the soul lossage. No, it wasn't the hotel at all, but there was something familiar to it.

What was he going to do? His expression didn't reveal anything. Why hadn't he already turned her again? She swallowed hard. Of course she was only assuming that was his agenda. He still had unexplored ways to hurt her further. And this whole situation was new, in a way. She was weak. Even if she was loose she wasn't positive that she would be able to get passed and out that door. And a physically weak Buffy would be perfect for a whole new array torments. She feared to think of what he might have in mind. She yanked her chains a few times, testing them. She was chained to the headboard in his bed. Or, someone's bed. It was impossible not to think it…

Was Angelus a rapist? That was something she actually didn't know. She knew many of the horrible things he had done, all about murder and torture, but that area she had never explored. Of course he could be. He probably was. Somehow it felt even worse to think of than straight up killings. Because that… that was defiling and abusing on a whole new level. That would turn her into a victim in a new way.

For a moment, she actually feared what his plans for her might be. She feared it, because for the first time ever she wasn't sure that she would be able to protect herself from him, and because she knew that he must know how vulnerable she was right now. And she already knew that Angelus was twisted enough to exploit it, use it to its furthest.

She felt cramps in her arms and hands. It felt like the cold chains were digging into her wrists. Maybe they were. She felt a metallic smell. In this stale room it was hard to tell if it was really metal or blood.

"So," he said finally, breaking the silence. "How've you been?" She blinked once, twice.

"Dead," she said stoically. "You?" He nodded.

"The same."

"Funny."

"Yeah, you know – I'm a funny guy." Buffy shook her head.

"You know, that line worked a lot better before."

"Hmm."

"So, what's wrong with you? What's with the whole monosyllabic thing? Because, and of course it might be the months of being dead talking, usually you never shut up," Buffy said, not satisfied with the calm, cold way he watched her.

He didn't answer. Instead he turned his head – someone was coming. A few seconds later Buffy heard footsteps. For a second, just a second, she hoped that it was the cavalry coming to the rescue – but of course, if it was, Angelus wouldn't remain in his seat. The footsteps ceased, and another sound was heard, from just outside the door this time.

"Pss, pss, pss, pss, pss…" That sound sent chills down Buffy's spine. And the singing didn't exactly make her feel better.

"Run and catch, run and catch… the lamb is caught in the blackberry patch. Run and catch, run and catch…Slayer."

She had entered. She stood in the middle of the room, staring Buffy straight in the eye. She held a blindfolded doll in her arms as if it was a child, rocking it.

Drusilla was one of those vampires that Buffy had never been able to understand at all. The regular street vamp, Spike, even Angelus, they all had patterns. Some way of predicting what they might do, more or less. Drusilla hadn't.

Right now, the way she looked, Buffy didn't know whether the vampire was about to rip her throat out and bathe in her blood, or decorate her hair with daisies and invite her to a tea party with her dolls. Drusilla smiled broadly and looked at Angelus. She patted the hair of the doll.

"What will she say?" she said. "Little fingers. Little hands… what will she say?" When she didn't get a response she approached Buffy, staring deeply into her eyes.

"Will you play with me?" she asked, her voice seeming so incredibly insecure and childish.

"Only if you want to play a game of pick-up stick," Buffy retorted. Drusilla yanked back as if struck, moaning silently to herself.

"Don't belong… no place anymore. Little heartbeat changes the world. The little one won't dance if he's not taught to… no, no…" she murmured incoherently.

"Drusilla," Angelus said sternly. "Don't you have something to do?" Drusilla nodded, looking down at the doll and then back at Buffy.

"I have to change Miss Edith," she stated, leaving the bedroom.

"I think you see why I need someone else by my side," Angelus said to Buffy. "Drusilla is fine work, I'm the first to say, but being around her? Well, it's…" he chuckled. "It's really just Spike that can stand having her around for too long."

"Oh yeah?" Buffy said between gritted teeth. "How's that?"

"If you haven't noticed, Spike isn't the brightest star in the sky. Besides, he's not quite sane either." Buffy let out a short bitter laugh.

"And you _are_?"

"Buffy, please. Didn't your mommy teach you any manners?"

"Don't you _ever_ talk about my mother," Buffy said, dead serious. "Mention her again, and I'll kill you." Angelus smiled.

"And the funny part? I believe it. That you would try, I mean."

"So let's get it on," Buffy said, deliberately trying to provoke him. New tactic; if she couldn't get loose herself, why not try to persuade him to release her? She saw a small stream of sunlight from the window. If she could just get outside, she would be safe.

"After all the time's we've been fighting… I thought you enjoyed having a Slayer smack you around." He looked amused. Amused wasn't good. She wanted him pissed off. At least he got up from his seat and started pacing.

"I don't know. Chains are a good look for you. After all, we haven't had much time to try it. I do remember the time when Faith and… my ensouled counterpart tried it on you." He smiled at the memory. "A pity that blue eyed shaman didn't do what he was supposed to."

Buffy snorted. "You remember that? Good, then you remember what I told Faith. I'll tell you too. You had to tie me up to beat me. There is a word for people like you; looser."

"Looser?" Angelus chuckled. "Ouch! You know, Buff, I think it's really mean of you to be hurting my feelings like this. If I have to get therapy for this, I'm sending the bill to you." Buffy watched him silently. Well, now he was beginning to look more like his old self.

"It's the truth," she answered cockily. Even if she was physically weak at the moment, she refused to break down mentally. Not again, she wouldn't give him the pleasure of it. If nothing else – looking at Drusilla, the shell of what probably had been an intelligent and bright young woman at one point, spurred her to fresh efforts.

She swallowed hard. Was that was he had in mind for her? Driving her insane and trap her in that state for eternity? She eerily recalled that time years ago when she had questioned Angel about Drusilla. He had told her that she had been pure and sweet, and chaste… and he turned her into a demon.

"_First I made her insane."_ There had been so much pain in his face when he said that. And Angelus, he smiled and dismissed his walking demonstration of the complete destruction of a human being as "fine work".

"Hmm," Angelus sounded. "It's interesting though, I think that to the casual observer, the looser would be the Slayer who can't kill me. I mean, really _can't._ You've had your openings, I'll give you that, but you don't have the guts to do it." He crept closer. "You never will have." Buffy stared back at him.

"The only reason you didn't change the scourge-y nickname to 'the Powder of America' the first time I had the chance… is because Angel is worth too much to the world to sacrifice," she answered harshly. If he thought that his mind games would break her, he was in for a surprise.

"Ah," Angelus said. "Yes, brave little hero Angel."

"Don't you dare try to sully his name. You know it won't work, and it's only pathetic if you try."

"Did you know that my, beloved alter ego, gave up completely after you died?" Angelus went on, ignoring her words.

"He was off balance because of what happened… because he lost me." She shrugged, which made her chains rattle. "I can understand that. I have experience in that area, too."

"Mmm. But did _you _ever think that your soul was merely a sick joke that never resulted in anything good? That, just maybe, you would be better off soulless and light-hearted?" Buffy frowned.

"What?"

"It's true, you see. I'm not sure he would have ever gone through with it, but hey, he's shown to be full of surprises before."

Angelus watched Buffy, watched how a worried wrinkle appeared between her eyes and she looked down. How easy it was. Just sharing with her a little of the dark thoughts of the soul had… if not convinced her, at least formed the thought in her head that maybe it was some truth to his words. And that was all he needed. He wanted that little piece of doubt, of suspicion in her head. Fruit rots from the inside out. When he had infected her mind enough with doubt and suspicion towards everything she believed in most in her life… it wouldn't take long before she gave up completely. He would enjoy watching her soul die before her body went the same way.

He didn't want to rush things this time. The idiots of Angel and Scooby Inc. were far behind him and should have no idea where to look. He had driven the truck back to the hotel and taken the Plymouth to the underground garage underneath this building on the smaller roads. The sun was up. The only on that might be able to track him was Spike – and he would be out of the game for at least ten, eleven more hours.

Let the games begin.


	28. TIMELESS, CLUELESS, HOPELESS

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**CHAPTER 28: TIMELESS, CLUELESS, HOPELESS**

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"I just don't get it."

They were all back in Cordelia's apartment, and she was the first to say anything.

"I mean… where could he possibly be?" Xander sank down into the couch with a tired grunt.

"Do you mean _besides_ anywhere? Anywhere except the hotel?"

So they had gone over there, full of hope. Okay, not exactly full of hope. With some hope. Without much hope at all, actually, but still; they had really thought that they were on the right track. Instead they had arrived at the hotel, fully armed and prepared for battle, and found nothing. Absolutely nothing. No Angelus, no Drusilla… no Buffy. Spike had followed them inside and assured them that they weren't there, and that at least Buffy hadn't been there for a very long time.

Very tired and very hungry with bodies screaming for rest and nourishment, they had gone back to Cordelia's apartment for a few hours of recharging before they went back out there. The question was… where to begin? Where to look? Spike wouldn't be able to participate in much in the way of tracking until nightfall, which was still many hours away. They couldn't wait around the whole day, could they?

"I just mean… I really thought they would be there," Cordelia murmured.

"Yeah, well, guess what? You were wrong," Xander bit back, weariness and worry making his voice harsh. Cordelia scowled and opened her mouth to deliver a snappy comeback, but before she had time to think of one, Giles interrupted them.

"Alright, alright," he cut in. "Nothing good will come out of bickering. We need to figure out what to do next."

"Well, we have to continue looking," Willow stated. Giles nodded.

"Certainly, but where? And how? This isn't like searching through Sunnydale."

"You said something there," Xander said. "Sunnydale. What if he's not even in LA anymore? He could have gone back to his beloved Hellmouth, right?" Giles frowned.

"I find it doubtful," he muttered, considering whether it was really likely that Angelus would have taken off back to Sunnydale just like that. Why would he? The big city made it easy for him to stay undetected as long as he wanted. That would be much harder in Sunnydale.

"He couldn't have," Spike commented. Xander glared at him.

"Excuse me, evil dead, but did I even ask you?"

"Oh shut your gob, will you? Think, dimwit, and take a look outside. The sun! How could he possibly make a two hour ride during the hour he had until the sun came up?" Xander opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again.

"So it's fairly safe to say that they're still here," Giles said. "But how do we know where to start looking?"

"I know how," Willow said, looking gravely at Giles. "A locator spell." She knew that he didn't like her using magic as much as she did… and she also knew there was no way he could have anything to say against it right now. There were no other alternatives that wouldn't take days, weeks... Or however long Angelus wanted to stay hidden.

Giles nodded slowly. "Alright." He looked very tired. "What do you need?"

"A map over Los Angeles. Otherwise, I think I have everything I need with me. It's not that complicated a spell, you know," she reminded him.

"What about his blood?" Giles asked while Cordelia went through her drawers in search of a suitable map.

"Took a sample from the street before when you weren't looking… just in case."

"I'll call Gunn," Cordelia said tiredly, handing the map to Willow who instantly began unpacking her little cups and books and ingredients for potions. "Tell him what's what… and that he can come here if Wesley is safe."

"Then what?" Xander asked.

"Then, I'm going to eat something, and sit down for, oh say, maybe twenty minutes. And try to figure out where they might be, if Willow's spell doesn't work." Willow gave her a look, but didn't say anything.

"Can't you get a premonition about it?" Xander went on. "Like when you saw Darla getting vamped." Cordelia smothered a sigh. He made it sound so simple. Like having a vision just meant having a bunch of blurry pictures flashing through her head.

"It doesn't work that way," she muttered.

"Are you sure?" Xander prodded. "Can't you, like, hold on to something of Buffy's and see where she is?" Cordelia shot him a look.

"No, I can't! Think Xander, if I could have done that, I already would have. So just… just shut up."

"Why is everyone telling me to think?" Xander muttered. "I think. I just don't show it." Anya patted him reassuringly on the arm, and Spike rolled his eyes.

When Cordelia turned and stalked out of the living room to get her phone, she heard Willow calling on the goddess Thespia. She felt relieved that someone else was doing something actively in the search of Buffy and Angelus. She wasn't used to all this organizing, taking on the roll of the leader stuff. There was usually always someone else around to do that. Maybe it would all be sorted in a few minutes. They would get an address and they could just go there and barge in. But somehow she doubted that it would be that easy.

"Guys, look." Willow smiled when her potion started forming into a small light on the map. The others gathered around her, watching anxiously.

"Look, there. He's in…" Willow trailed off, frowning. "In the Pacific ocean?"

"No, look," Xander said. "There is a dot over here, too. In the middle of Long Beach."

"Another one," Anya said, pointing. "In… Beverly Hills?"

"This is… I mean, it is… Willow?" Giles glanced at her, a bewildered look on his face. "What is this?" Willow shook her head, staring at the map where the number of dots continued to grow.

"I don't know. I mean, something must have gone wrong. This spell is supposed to show only Angel, remember, it worked in Sunnydale before."

"It doesn't seem to be working now," Giles muttered bitterly, failing to hide his disappointment. Willow glared at him.

"So, you do it better," she said in an uncharacteristically harsh voice. Giles frowned.

"I'm not saying you've done anything wrong, merely that the spell clearly isn't working," he said calmly. Willow shot him a look.

"And you're blaming that on me?"

"No, I'm not! Willow, please…"

"Maybe he has a protective charm," Anya interrupted. Everyone looked at her.

"A what-ive what?" Willow asked her.

"Protect-. Charm. There are opposites to your kind of magic; there is defensive, protecting magic, such as force fields, charms and alike. If Angelus has gotten a hold of a protective charm, that means it will ruin your spell, throw you off track. As long as he has it, no form of locator spells will work." Willow sat down, looking defeated.

"I didn't know that," she murmured. She looked up when Cordelia entered the room again. She took one look at their gloomy faces, frowned slightly when she saw Spike sitting leaned back with his feet resting on the table and looked at Willow.

"Locator spell was no good, huh?"

"He has some kind of charm," Willow said tonelessly. "That's the popular theory, anyway." Cordelia nodded, frowning.

"Kinda figured it wouldn't be that easy. So, I talked to Gunn. Wesley is fine, he's woken up and he seems to have gotten off lightly. His back is fine, and he can come home this afternoon if he's progressing the way he should be."

"Good," Giles cut in. "It's good if we can stay together at all times, at least when it's dark outside. We can't give Angelus any unnecessary openings." Cordelia nodded shortly.

"With you on that. And also, we need to de-invite Angel from my apartment, like, now. Willow, please tell me you have what we need?" Willow nodded.

"If you've got the crosses, I've got the herbs."

"Good. Anyway, Gunn is going to Lorne's club, see if he's heard something." Giles nodded.

"What will the rest of us do?" Cordelia looked at him for a second. Was Giles, _Giles_ actually asking her what everyone should do? Did that mean that he thought she had grown enough to lead them all, or that he was so exhausted that he was willing to dump the responsibility on anyone, even if it meant her?

"Stay put for now," Cordelia said confidently. "I have someone I thought I could ask about Angel a little later today."

"Who? A friend of Angel's?"

Cordelia frowned "Sort of. Well, maybe not really a… friend."

* * *

' 

Cordelia inhaled a deep breath and braced herself before she entered the room where Kate had her desk. Didn't detectives have their own rooms? Apparently not this detective, anyway. She was sharing with a bunch of other cops. Cordelia opened the door and entered. She could see Kate, sitting at her desk at the other side of the room.

This was probably a bad idea. What was she even doing here? She hadn't seen Kate in a long time. Odds were that she wouldn't even remember her. Then again, as a colleague… _former_ colleague of Angel's, maybe she was one to stick in people's minds. Well, she was about to find out. She walked up to Kate's desk, stopped, and cleared her throat to get her attention.

Kate looked up from a pile of paperwork. Cordelia studied her face. She looked… surprised? No, she looked like she was a little surprised, yet not surprised at all – however that could be. She looked like she had expected Cordelia's arrival somehow, and she definitely didn't look like she didn't recognize her. Well, first barrier broken then.

"Hello," Cordelia greeted. Kate frowned.

"Hi."

"So…" Cordelia shifted her weight. "How have you been? These last few… it's been a while, hasn't it?" Kate shrugged.

"I suppose it has. Can I help you with something?"

"Well, I, um… This may come off as a little weird. I'm looking for Angel." Kate raised her eyebrows.

"He's your boss. Shouldn't you know better than I how to get in touch with him?"

"Well, yeah. But… some things have happened, and we lost contact with him, and now we're afraid something might have happened. I was just wondering if you maybe had seen anything, or heard anything…" Cordelia trailed off. Well, she hadn't lied so far. They _had_ lost contact with him and they _were_ afraid something might have happened… only not to him as much as to the people unfortunate enough to get in his way.

Kate shook her head. "Well, I don't know where he is." She looked at Cordelia. "It's funny though." Cordelia swallowed.

"What is?"

"Actually, I happen to be looking for him too." Cordelia froze. That couldn't reasonably be good, could it?

"Really? Why?"

"I want to question him about a murder. A truck driver, found with puncture wounds on his neck, which was broken by the way, and a cross carved into his left cheek." She eyed Cordelia suspiciously. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about this, would you?"

"No," Cordelia answered quickly.Well, she didn't, did she? Just because Wesley's car had crashed into a truck, that didn't mean that the truck and the dead driver had any connections... Okay. Who was she trying to kid here?

"No," Kate repeated. "Of course not."

Cordelia didn't know what to say. If Kate came after Angelus and actually found him, she would be dead in a second. If she was lucky. But would it do any good if she told her that Angel nowadays wasn't the broody guy with a dark edge that she knew from before? Would it stop her from going after him? But she had to say something. Not telling her anything would be sending her to a certain death.

"There is one thing I need to tell you," Cordelia said. "Eh… it's funny, really."

Kate stared blankly at her. "Really."

"Well, no. It's just… Maybe you don't want to see Angel right now." Kate raised her eyebrows.

"What I want is not the question." Kate crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm a detective. It's my duty to investigate this man's death, and I have my reasons to think that Angel knows something." Well, actually it wasn't her duty since it wasn't even her case – but she wasn't about to tell Cordelia that.

"I understand, and I'm all about the… detecting, I'm just saying that it's a bad time to see Angel. Really bad, actually."

"Really," she replied dryly. "You know, Cordelia, if I didn't know better I would say that you know a lot more than you're telling. You do know that protecting a felon is a crime, don't you?" Cordelia swallowed. Protecting a felon, right. Well, the felon wasn't really the one she was trying to protect here.

"Protecting a felon? I thought you just wanted to ask him a few questions," Cordelia said slowly. Kate shrugged and looked away.

"Anyway, I'm just saying this one more time. Angel's changed, he… he might not be like you remembered."

"Really. And why is that?" She almost sounded amused. If she only knew.

"Um, well, you see. He's not quite himself right now, one might say. He's – darker." Kate shook her head.

"Please. I've seen his dark side." Cordelia stared at her.

"You really haven't." Kate looked at her for a minute in what Cordelia hoped was belief. It would make it at least a little easier if they didn't have to worry about Kate roaming town in the search of Angelus, too.

"Look, Cordelia," she said. "I have a job to do, and nothing you say is going to make me drop my only lead on this case so far. So if you're not protecting Angel, then fine, you have nothing to worry about. And if you are? Then I suggest you stay out of my way. I've killed vampires before, and trust me, if he's returned to old habits, I won't hesitate to kill him too."

Cordelia sighed. Yeah, this was gonna end well.

* * *

' 

It was almost dark outside now.

All day she had gotten no food, no water and no rest. She was so tired. Her throat was dry as a desert and her stomach had turned into an aching knot. And he wouldn't leave her alone for even a minute.

"You've always had high thoughts about yourself, haven't you?"

Buffy flinched at the sudden sound and looked at him. She wasn't sure how long it had been since he last spoke. An hour? Two? She had lost track of time by now. It wasn't like she had anything to do to kill time. She could alternate between sitting up and lying down and move her feet maybe ten inches in each direction, but that was it. She cleared her throat.

"Not to bring up the irony, but this coming from you?" she spat back at him. He smiled.

"You think you're superior to everyone you meet." Buffy snorted.

"The hell I do. Look, if you're going to mock me, at least there should be some truth to what you're saying. This is just pathetic." Angelus didn't move his gaze. He looked at her so deeply that she was sure she could feel her skin crawling under his penetrating stare. She wanted to close her eyes, look away, hide under the covers… but no. She just sat there, staring back. She wouldn't give up. He wouldn't stop trying to make her give up… but she wouldn't.

"Maybe you're not even completely aware of it yourself, but you do think that you're better than your friends… than your former watcher... than everyone you meet. You have Slayer powers, and you think that makes you special." Buffy frowned, trying to push his words out of her head. Because there couldn't reasonably be any truth to them, could there? He was just trying to twist her mind.

"I am the Slayer," she said confidently. "It's who and what I am. And yeah, that does make me special, in some ways. Not better, maybe, but different."

"Are you really the Slayer? Or are you just a strong girl that should have been dead and buried before you even turned 17 years old? Did you ever stop and think that maybe your time as the Slayer ended almost four years ago, in a sewer tunnel underneath Sunnydale?" Buffy's gaze darkened.

"But I was brought back. I wasn't dead and buried before I turned 17. Although, in retrospect I might have been better off that way, considering the grand birthday that was," she snapped.

"You were brought back, yeah… but another Slayer was called… and when she died, Faith was called. Doesn't that make you wonder? Isn't _she_ the Slayer now? And you're, what. A girl with borrowed powers. Working overtime with something that isn't even assigned to you anymore."

"Okay, sure. Say you're right. Faith's in jail. She can't be the Slayer in there."

"Let's make a quick comparison. Faith's in prison and can't do much for the goody-goody forces in there. What about you? What are you going to do, exactly, that will make you earn back the title as _the_ Slayer, the one and only chosen one?"

"I'm going to kill you; that's how," Buffy hissed, not moving her gaze from him for even a second. Angelus nodded.

"So you say. But, how? The old Buffy would have broken free from her restraints in a minute, and you're still sitting where I put you hours ago. I just don't think you're up for it. You were a Slayer. But now… without your friends, your strength and your weapons… you're just another scared little girl."

Angelus shook his head, and faked a miserable look. It was something of a mockery of Angel's miserably look, one might say. Buffy looked away. His face told her that it was Angel, but his eyes and his voice quickly put those fantasies to rest.

"Did you ever wonder why Giles… Xander, Willow, why they never even tried to help when you were at deaths door?" Buffy stared at him. She had actually wondered. Somewhere in her state of delirium in that sewer tunnel, she had wondered if her friends were doing something to save her. But she wasn't going to tell him that.

"When my strength returns, it won't take me more than ten seconds to get loose, break off a leg on that chair and stake you all the way to hell," she hissed.

"Denial," he said. "Of course. It's an easy way to live. But it doesn't change the truth. When you became like me, the version of you they loved died and went away forever. They don't know what you are anymore, and like all humans, they fear what they don't know - and they turn away from it. Deep inside you know it, don't you?"

"I'm not like you anymore," she said bravely. "And they will come for me. _That_ is what I know." Angelus looked at her for a second, and then got up from his seat.

Buffy felt her muscles tense up. All day she had waited for him to get close enough for her to reach him. She couldn't move her legs very far, but if he just came close enough, she should be able to land one hard kick. And who knew how far that could take her?

But of course, he wasn't that stupid. He removed his coat from the pile of rubbish he had put it on, slipped it on and headed towards the door.

"You'll have to excuse me, I'm just going out for a bit. Don't stay up." Buffy glared at him.

"By the way, do you want me to get you something?"

"Bite me," she hissed, instantly kicking herself mentally for possibly missing the opportunity of getting at least some water. Or maybe he was just mocking her, with no intention of bringing her anything. He laughed.

"All in good time," he said, disappearing out the door, closing it behind him.

The moment he was gone, Buffy began working to get loose. The bars she was chained to were wood and not that strong, but her arms were fixated in a bad angle and she wasn't sure that she would be able to pull herself loose now, with her reduced strength. Still, she had to try.

She scooted forth as far as she could and yanked her chains tryingly. Nothing happened. She pulled again, and again… and nothing happened. She tried another approach by pulling hard and for a longer period of time instead of jerking. Was that a creak in the wood? Spurred on she continued pulling, slowly feeling the wood give in. Just a minute now… Or maybe two.

Or possibly a little longer than that.


	29. PERSEVERANCE

**

* * *

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**CHAPTER 29: PERSEVERANCE  
**

**

* * *

**

It must have been an hour. Maybe more.

When the bars finally gave in, Buffy practically collapsed in a heap on the bed. She panted and moaned in pain for a few seconds before she gathered herself and started tugging at the chains behind her back to get her hands loose. It didn't take long. She massaged her wrists, trying to take away the cramp in them before she moved on the chains around her feet.

She did all she could, twisting and turning, but she couldn't get her feet out of the manacles. If she could just loosen the chains from the footboard. She would be seriously slowed down with chains around her feet, but it was the only way. Leaning forward she quickly learned that the chains were fixated with two heavy padlocks.

She swallowed hard. On a normal day she might very well be able to break them open… but not now. She would have to use her brains instead of her brawns this time… just like that time around her 18th birthday when she was fighting whatever-his-name-was. Kraky? Kinky? Kralik.

She searched the pockets of her pants, hoping that Cordelia had left something in them. Just a little thing, like… a hair pin. Great! Of course Cordelia would be the kind of person to have hair pins in her pockets.

With hands shaking from pain and exhaustion she bent the hair pin and inserted it in the first lock, twisting and turning. It seemed like forever, but actually, it didn't take her more than a minute or two to open the lock. She moved on to the second lock, opening that in half the time.

How long had he been gone now? She wasn't sure, and she didn't have a watch to check the time. She got up from the bed… ooh, ow. Much with the ow. She grimaced as she moved stiffly on her sore legs, trying to arrange the chains so that they wouldn't scrape against the floor. How was she supposed to run quickly and silently like this? Limbs aching, manacles digging into her ankles.

Walking wide legged to avoid unnecessary sounds Buffy grabbed the doorknob and turned it. Her heart sank. Oh, no. It was locked. She bent down and peeked out through the keyhole. She couldn't see anything out there. It was hard to say whether it only was because it was dark out there or because Angelus had put something in front of the door.

She put the hair pin in the lock, trying to get it open, but the door was solid and it didn't take many seconds before she heard an ill-boding snap when the hair pin broke. Hell. Hell, hell, hell, hell. Her only hope now was the window.

She walked over to it, jumping when one of the chains fell to the floor, scraping against it for every step she took. She pulled the curtains aside. The window was nailed shut. There was no way she would get it open without some kind of tool. There were no streetlights outside and she couldn't see anything. No, that wasn't much point. She would never get out that way in time.

Instead she went over to the chair Angelus had been sitting on, grabbing it and throwing it to the floor. Absolutely nothing happened with it. Sheesh. Having no powers was really frustrating. She grabbed the chair again, pressing one leg to the floor. She put her whole weight on the chair and finally she heard a satisfying crack when the leg broke off.

She picked up her make-do stake, grabbed the chains formerly used to bind her hands and approached the door. Now she was ready for him.

She was actually nervous. It was degrading and unusual… she felt like a normal person would do in the same situation. Like Xander and Willow and Giles… and Cordelia and Wesley must always feel. She, on the other hand, wasn't used to it. They dealt with the same demons and battles that she did, but they didn't have any superpowers to rely on. Didn't that make them a hell of a lot braver than she was?

She heard footsteps outside the door and she prepared herself. She tightened her grip around the chains and the stake and swallowed hard; knowing that he must be able to hear her speeding heartbeat, smell her exhilaration of he tried to. She was hoping that he wouldn't. She heard him insert the key and turn it. She forced herself not to shift her weight as she knew he would feel even the lightest vibration in the floor. The door opened. This was it.

Without making a sound she shot forward, smacking Angelus over the head with the chains. He stumbled backwards but recovered easily, and when she lunged forward with her stake raised he grabbed the chains and pulled her towards him with them.

She bit back a yelp as he spun her around and pinned her to his chest. There was a moment, maybe a whole second of complete stillness before she started struggling again. She thrashed back and forth, trying to do what she would normally do; use his grip on her to flip him over her back, but it was useless. She could barely move his arms at all and with every move she made she felt a numbing pain in her upper arms and chest. He squeezed her right wrist so hard she was sure she could hear something crunch and gasping in pain she was forced to let go of the stake.

She stopped struggling and stayed limp in his arms. A second went by, two seconds… and he released his grip, thinking that she had surrendered. Instead she cried out in pain and anger, turned around and kicked him with all her strength.

For a moment he doubled over in pain and she saw her way to freedom before her – without any obstacles. She lunged forward, practically stumbling over him, hearing him cursing under his breath, getting up slowly. If her head hadn't been rushing with triumph and her senses clouded by the fact that she was so close to freedom, so close that she could actually feel it, smell the fresh night air instead of this musty old burnt down place, she would have seen it coming, seen why he didn't bother getting up fast to try and stop her.

And then it all went away. It seemed as if the floor was disappearing under her feet, and considering the state of the building it might very well have been true. She fell headlong to the floor and heard a thump when she hit her head. She remained there for a second, embarrassed and realizing that her shot at freedom had been nipped in the bud. Or knocked off its feet. She looked up and saw Drusilla standing there, shaking her finger at Buffy.

"Naughty, naughty," she said. She looked in the direction of the bedroom door. "Now you've mad him angry." Buffy didn't answer. And she didn't get up either. If he wanted her back in that bed, he was going to have to drag her there. Until then, the cold, hard floor was actually a nice change after sitting in the bed all day. She was starting to feel her butt again. Well, even if she wouldn't ever become a Sleeping Beauty, at least she could say that she was a Sleeping Butty. She sighed to herself. It there was ever a less fitting time for a pun. A bad pun at that.

It didn't take long before she felt his strong arms around her, pulling her to her feet. When he lifted her, she saw something unusual around his right wrist. A bracelet. She hadn't seen that one before, and it didn't really look like ordinary jewelry. Not like something he would wear. He dragged her back to the bed and pushed her onto it roughly, closing and looking the door from the inside before he picked up the chains and started untangling them.

She looked from him to the window and back. If only she knew what floor they were on, maybe she would take a chance and smash the window and take a dive. But she didn't, and she didn't much feel like jumping out into the pitch-black street and probably break her legs in the process. Especially since he would leap out any window, landing lightly without as much as a scratch. Unfair vampire constitution.

She looked at the bracelet again.

"What's that, the latest in vamp accessories?" Buffy asked in a raspy voice. "Wouldn't have figured you for a bracelet kind of guy."

He didn't answer her. He approached her with the chains, grabbed her hands roughly and locked her to the thickest two bars in the headboard. This time he chained her legs both together and to the footboard, making it impossible for her to move her feet at all.

When he was done he turned off the lights in the room, disappeared out the door and locked it behind him. She could hear him sit down in the sofa in the living room outside.

So what was this, a new way of tormenting her? Ignoring her completely. Well, at least it was better than hearing him taunting her all night long.

Better? Who was she kidding? She was still chained, hungry, thirsty, aching all over and held hostage. The back of her head was throbbing from getting smacked into the floor. It wasn't _better_ whatever way it was done. She still didn't know where she was, and clearly her friends didn't either.

Or maybe Angelus was right, she thought darkly. Maybe they didn't care very much about her anymore. Were they even looking for her at all?

She bit her lip, feeling her eyes brim with hot, salty tears. She let them come. The small stream of light coming from the door went blurry and she felt her body start to shake from sobs threatening to get a grip on her. She knew he could hear everything she did from outside, but she didn't care. She had to release her emotions; her pain, fear, anger and frustration in some way. She felt tears trickle down her cheeks and when she inhaled, she could barely avoid sobbing.

Right now she had nothing else to do than cry. Maybe it would release a little of her anguish… just a little… just for a moment.

* * *

"How are you feeling?" Wesley looked up at Cordelia who set down a steaming cup of English breakfast tea on the table in front of him. She sat down opposite him, studying his pasty face and depressed expression. 

"Like I would have been better off if my spine had snapped," he muttered silently, but she heard him and frowned.

"Stop that," she said, softly yet commandingly in her typical Cordelia-way. "It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known what he's planning."

"Perhaps not," Wesley replied. "But I should have seen it coming. Should have seen that _something_ was coming."

"Then all of us should have," Cordelia argued. "You're not the only one with the responsibility around here, you know."

Wesley shrugged lightly, wincing in pain. Shrugging, like breathing, walking and even standing up straight… not to mention turning or lying down, hurt like hell. Eight ribs broken, five on one side and two on the other. Adding to that the concussion and the beating his spine took, he was lucky to only be in a wheelchair temporary, until he could move around without too much pain. He looked towards the window where the sun shone in. Another bright, shining day had begun, and somewhere out there she was. God knew what he had done to her by now.

Strong painkillers could dull the pain his body was in – but it couldn't do anything about the mental agony. The shame he felt… he hadn't felt this bad in a long time. The knowledge that he, through his actions, could possibly have sent Buffy to a painful, horrible death… it was just too much to deal with. But he had to. And he had to do whatever he could to help the others find and save her.

"So what are we doing today?" Wesley asked without looking at Cordelia, concentrating on picking up the cup and holding it without grimacing in pain.

"Willow and Giles have been up since before dawn, trying to figure out who could possibly have an orb of Thesulah in LA. And the rest of us, I don't know… I guess we're all just waiting for a solution to fall from the sky and hit us in our heads." Wesley forced a smile.

"That would be convenient, wouldn't it."

"It's just… there are a million places he could be, you know?" Cordelia looked at Wesley for confirmation. She had been awake almost the whole night thinking about this. "He could be anywhere. Cave, warehouse, basement – anywhere that's dark and depressing." Wesley frowned.

"Yes, I suppose so," he murmured. "And detective Lockley… she didn't know anything?" Cordelia shook her head.

"Not a thing. Although she did find the time to remind me that if she found that Angel has returned to his bad-vamp-ways, she's gonna do something about it. Well, good luck with that I say, have a nice death." She sighed. "Lorne didn't know anything either. It's like he's just… vanished."

"Perhaps we're approaching this matter from the wrong direction," Wesley mused, putting down his cup. Cordelia frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, maybe we shouldn't concentrate on finding the target as much as a possible lead to the target. Such as Drusilla." Cordelia nodded slowly.

"Maybe. I mean, if Angelus is…" she trailed off. "If he's busy with Buffy, maybe she would wander off by herself?"

"Yes. And I think the odds of having any use of Spike are a whole lot better if we're searching for Drusilla. Cordelia, why don't you ask him to think of a few places that she might go in the city. Tonight, we'll head out and look for her." He fell silent. "Well, not the kind of we that is _us_, that includes me..." he looked embarrased. "Because that can't possibly lead to any good."

"Not true," Cordelia protested. She frowned. "Okay, true, but only 'cause you're a crippling. Right now, I mean."

"Thank you," Wesley commented dryly. "Now I feel much better."

Willow put down the phone.

"This one didn't even know what it was," she muttered. The search of another orb of Thesulah had proved less than simple so far. No one had it, no one seemed to know where to find one, one had suggested that they could order one from Romania, which should only take "approximately 5 to 6 weeks" and this last one hadn't even known what it was. Things weren't looking great.

"Something will turn up. It has to," Giles said tiredly, massaging his temples. "Perhaps we should go downtown and visit the shops instead. Magic shop owners aren't always keen on talking about specific objects over the phone, I know that from experience."

"I guess. It's not like we can do much else right now, anyway." They sat in silence for a few minutes, both of them deeply lost in thought.

"I wish she could just show up here, tell us she took care of Angel and that she's fine," Willow said suddenly, imagining what it would be like. She could almost see if in front of her, how Buffy would be worn and tired, but happy and alright. Free, and back together with her friends. And then there would be a group hug, tears, love and happiness. The perfect fairytale ending. Why couldn't they ever have one of those?

"Unfortunately, I don't think that's going to happen," Giles sighed. Maybe he should have more faith in Buffy. She was a Slayer after all, weakened or not. But somehow, he just had the feeling that this wouldn't sort itself out just like that.

"I guess." Her voice was weak and vulnerable. Living through the torturous days after Buffy's death had been bad enough, but this, this was actually even worse. Not knowing whether she was still alive, what Angelus had done to her… that the difference between her life and death may all depend on their actions. "I just… I wish we knew where she was."

* * *

"I brought something for you." Buffy woke up abruptly from her restless, worried slumber and opened her eyes. She blinked a few times to adjust her eyes to the dull light in the room and tried to focus on the person – well, demon – standing only a few feet away from his bed. Not Angelus. Drusilla. 

Drusilla, alone in the room with her. Holding a kitchen knife in her right hand, and a doll in her left. She waved the knife back and forth five inches or so from Buffy's face.

"Do you like it? Hmm?" Buffy looked up at her.

"Why don't you give it to me? I've killed vampires with smaller knives than that." Drusilla sat down on the edge of the bed, running her sharp nails lightly over Buffy's legs, still clutching the doll. Buffy yanked her chains tryingly, but they were firmly tightened.

"You are going to become my little sister," Drusilla crooned. "It's you birthday soon. I want to give you your present." She smiled broadly. "Do you want your present?"

"Don't bother," Buffy muttered. "I actually missed my birthday this year. And looking at the earlier ones, I think that's pretty much a yay-for-me-situation." Buffy shuddered under Drusilla's touch. She wanted to get up, smack her hard, make a pun about it and send her on a one-way trip to Dustville. That was what her instincts told her to do. But she couldn't.

"Do you have a garden?" Drusilla asked. "I had a garden once. The forbidden garden," she giggled.

"Great. Vampire Eden." Buffy studied the knife. Drusilla looked at her strangely, raised the knife and made a small cut in her index finger. The cut turned dark red and blood dripped slowly onto Buffy's pants.

"Would you like a taste?" Drusilla asked, and Buffy turned her head. Drusilla frowned, looking hurt and annoyed at the same time.

"Daddy won't like such a wicked girl. I will teach you what Daddy likes," she murmured.

Drusilla grabbed Buffy around the throat and tried to turn her head back, forcing her to taste the blood. She pressed her finger inside her mouth and Buffy felt the metallic, salty taste on her tongue for a second before she bit down. Drusilla squealed and hit Buffy hard across the face, slicing her lip with her sharp nail when she pulled her finger out.

"You are a very bad little sister," she hissed, grabbing the knife. "Little sister needs to be punished, like all the other bad children." She let the cold knife run smoothly over Buffy's throat, just teasing her, scratching the skin slightly, yet making her fully aware that she had the power to kill her instantly if she wanted to. Buffy stayed perfectly still. Even speaking might cause the knife to go deeper.

"Daddy used to punish me a lot," Drusilla continued in her almost sing-song like voice. "Told me I was a naughty, naughty girl. He came to my garden and said hello to my Mummy. She was caring for her lemon tree." Drusilla stared deeply into Buffy's eyes. "No more Mummy." Buffy took the opportunity to swallow when the knife was still for a second.

"There was a party. A nice celebration. They were all there, eating cake, and honey… and custard. Till he came and turned it a-all red." Drusilla brought the knife to Buffy's scar on the neck, letting it linger there, cutting into it very gently.

"Do you have an uncle?" Drusilla asked, licking the blood of the knife. "Mmm. I used to have an uncle. And once, when I visited him, he had turned into many uncles. So much blood. So many insides... parts you can't see." Drusilla sniffed in the air and growled when her demonic features appeared.

"Do you know... what it smells in a room where sixty-two nuns have just been mass slaughtered? Intoxicating. Full of fear… and blood… and insides. He buried me under their bodies, you know. I had to move them all away to get loose. Their smell... all over me, inside and outside, until the end." Drusilla touched the wound on Buffy's neck with her fingers, seemingly endlessly fascinated by the blood that slowly trickled out of it.

"Me mum, she said… never be afraid of the dead. Only the living can hurt you." She stared deeply into Buffy's eyes, her amber colored meeting Buffy's green. "I'm think she may have been a wee bit wrong." She was silent for a moment.

"Do you want to play a game with me now, then? Miss Edith wants to play a game." Drusilla leaned forward and whispered in Buffy's ear.

"Daddy shall be very cross when he finds that we are playing without him. It shall have to be our little secret." She bit into Buffy's scar slowly, and the world flickered before Buffy's eyes. She was already on the verge of dehydration and her weak body wouldn't stand loosing a lot of blood.

She heard Drusilla gulp down the precious, thick liquid and she tried to wriggle away from her, but she couldn't move a lot.

Just when she felt warming, welcomed unconsciousness getting a grip on her she heard the crash of a door being swung open. Well, she thought woozily, how ironic. Saved by the Angelus bell.

"Drusilla!" he roared, grabbing the skinny vampire from behind and pulling her away from Buffy. In her somewhat dazed state Buffy saw his eyes glister with anger, in fact, she wasn't sure she had ever seen Angelus mad like this before. For a soulless evil thing, he very rarely lost his temper.

He raised his hand and struck Drusilla across the face, she stumbled to the side, dropped her doll and fell to the floor. She brought a shaking hand to her face and touched her cheek that turned colors quickly, and tears glistered in her large eyes. She looked at the doll on the floor, looked at the broken porcelain face and moaned silently.

"You _ever_ disobey me again," Angelus threatened. "That won't be the dolls face breaking next time."

"What have I done to displease you so?" she cried, her voice shaking. Angelus answered by pulling her up by her hair, and Drusilla moaned – whether it was from pain or pleasure was hard to tell. He held her pressed against the wall.

"The world is crumbling, inside to outside. All coming apart," Drusilla wept silently, absolutely still in her sire's firm grip.

"That won't be the only thing crumbling," he hissed. "Now, get the hell out of my house, and don't come back until you've thought about this." He pushed her backwards roughly and she stumbled through the door.

Buffy could hear her sobbing when she made her way out of the house – presumably to the sewer tunnels as it was clearly day outside. What was she crying about? Her face, her doll… that the world was crumbling? Whatever that meant.

Angelus turned back to Buffy, who met his gaze. He hadn't saved her because he cared for her, but because he wanted her to suffer more before he killed her himself. That was important to remember. He wasn't eyeing her out of worry, but to determine how substantial the blood loss was – if he had to turn her now or if she would recover. Buffy closed her eyes, pretending to drift off to sleep, even though she knew that he would be able to hear that she was awake.

What a fantastic living nightmare. Almost killed by Drusilla, saved by Angelus just so that he could kill her himself later. It was easy to get the feeling that either way, this was something of a lose-lose situation for her.


	30. DANGEROUS PREY

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**CHAPTER 30: DANGEROUS PREY  
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"So we're thinking, what? Garden, park… a zoo? Or what?" Gunn looked at Spike who shot an annoyed look right back at him.

"Told you that before, didn't I? Drusilla is fascinated with all kinds of life, human, animal… bloody plants, makes no difference. How am I supposed to know where she might be? For all I know she might still be tied to Angelus' apron-strings."

"Angelus in an apron?" Xander frowned. "Well hey, there's 'scary' on a level I hardly knew existed."

"Spike, please understand the importance of your participation in this," Giles said calmly. "Doubtlessly, of all of us here you know Drusilla the best. If this is going to have any chance of being successful, we have to narrow down the number of places she is likely to be at."

"Maybe I know Drusilla. Don't know the town," Spike muttered.

"Well, start getting to know it then! We have to do something," Giles burst out, and Spike gave him a look.

He actually _wanted_ to be of help. Yes, that was the ironic and sort of gag-inducing thing about all this. It was a strange, unusual feeling… repulsive actually, in many ways. But for her… for Buffy, he was prepared to play the good-boy game. If it would help her, it would be worth it. But the thing was – he couldn't. He had no idea where Drusilla might be. He hadn't seen her for a while, and he didn't know what kind of mood she might be in now. He couldn't do much to help, even if he wanted to.

"Will take too long. You and the rest of your goodie-two-shoes gang will just have to come up with another way of finding her, won't you?" Spike said between clenched teeth.

Giles shook his head, looking away.

Willow studied the gang unhappily. If she could only do something… but she didn't know any spells that might be able to sort this out, and it was frustrating. If she only had a little blood from Drusilla she could use a locator spell, assuming that she wasn't wearing some kind of protection charm like Angelus, but she didn't. That left her with only the usual demon locator spells, which would be of no use at all considering how many demons there must be in Los Angeles.

It seemed like they had fallen into a puddle of quicksand and the more they struggled, the further down they sank. During the last few hectic days their attempts hadn't solved anything, merely created more questions and doubts. Not a single magic shop in the city seemed to know where to get an orb of Thesulah. No one seemed to know where Angelus and Buffy might be, and no one seemed to know how they would find Drusilla. It all seemed very hopeless.

"Can't you just go out there and track her?" Anya asked, turned to Spike. He sighed deeply.

"You think I can pick up scents from many miles away?" He stared at Anya. "Well, do you? I can't. If I could just find her scent somewhere, then maybe I could track her. Otherwise – no."

Xander glared angrily at him. "Don't bite her head off about it. At least _she_ has some contributions to what we can do."

"Contributions?" Spike scoffed. "Where'd you learn such hard words, eh? Was it when you delivered pizza or flogged old ladies your disgusting health bars?"

Xander crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh, just shut up. Shut up for once. I'm sick to death of hearing you whiny, stupid voice and I'm warning you…"

Spike snorted. "You? You're warning me? Oh, please, help, help me! Princess Blockhead is out to get me." Spike took a step towards Xander and Gunn who stood closest grabbed him by the arm.

"Spike, take it easy now, alright?"

"Lay off!" Instinctively Spike pushed Gunn away, making him stumble backwards. "Ow! Bloody hell," he roared, clutching his head.

"Look, there is no use arguing," Giles tried to meddle. "It won't help us to any answers, and it definitely won't help Buffy, which is our main priority here." He shot Xander a stern glare. "Don't you agree?" Xander looked away, obviously ashamed of his behavior, and nodded. "And you Spike?"

"Whatever. You give me a ring when your brilliant lack of plans has actually turned into something tangible. Ta." With that, he turned around and stormed out of the living room.

"I think we can pretty much rule out his help," Xander muttered. "So, we're down to what? That thing where the solution just comes hitting us on the head sounds better and better, don't you think?"

Before he had even finished his sentence Cordelia cried out in pain, her legs buckling under her. Gunn rushed to her aid and supported her before she collapsed to the floor and held her steady.

"I didn't make that happen, right? Right?" Xander asked, almost sounding a little worried.

Cordelia moaned in pain and cried silently, trying to hide her teary eyes with her hands. Wesley frowned. Crying didn't usually come with the vision-territory, unless the person need of help conveyed something truly dreadful. And that wasn't quite what they needed at the moment.

"Cordy, what did you see?" he asked softly from his position in the wheelchair. She took a few deep breaths and pulled herself together, getting to her feet with Gunn's support and sat down on the sofa. She held her head bent downwards for a few seconds and supported her forehead with her palms as if she was trying to avoid passing out before she gathered her strength and raised her gaze.

The transformation was shocking. She had dark shadows under her bloodshot eyes and she looked like… well, she looked like they all felt, actually. Unbelievably tired, burnt out, ready to drop dead – at least figuratively speaking – at any moment.

"Drusilla," she panted, letting her gaze fly over everyone looking at her, including Spike who slowly strode back into the room. "I know where she is."

-

* * *

- 

"How are you feeling, Buff? Hmm?" He sat down next to her and let his cold fingers run over her upper arms. Buffy shuddered under his touch. She was cold. Her body wasn't doing very well, lacking nourishment and water and now also blood, and to save up on the energy, apparently it was keeping the heat down. She had goose bumps all over her arms and legs and his touch wasn't doing her much good.

"Cold," she murmured between clenched teeth. She had started giving up. It didn't matter what smart comments she threw at him, he stood indifferent no matter what. She suspected that she was doing exactly what he wanted – slowly breaking down before him, but that wasn't all true. She was too tired and weak to fight him now, but that didn't mean that he had broken her spirit. He hadn't, and he never would.

"Does it hurt?" he ran his fingers over her throat and let them linger over Drusilla's bite wound.

"No," Buffy lied. Her eyes were aching. It felt like they had grown too big for their sockets and wanted to pop out of her head in search of more appropriate accommodations. Not like she could blame them. She wanted to close them and drift off to sleep, but she couldn't. He kept her awake, and besides, the cramps in her arms and legs were way too bad to be able to relax completely anyway.

He sat there, on her bedside, as if he cared about her. And while she wanted him so badly to be the one who cared, who touched her because he loved her and sat beside her because he worried about her… he wasn't, and they both knew it. It was just another part of the game. Whenever she looked at him, she saw the mockery in his eyes, and he saw the longing and pain in hers. He knew that touching her gently hurt her just as much as hitting her, maybe even more, just in another way.

"Is there anything you want? Anything I can do for you?" His expression was dead serious, but his eyes held that usual feral gleam. He was just toying with her, he even knew that Buffy had figured that out, but it didn't matter. The game was the point. The pain and the confusion… that was the whole point. She looked up at him.

"Wouldn't cry if you were to trip and fall on that broken chair over there," she hissed. He chuckled cheerfully.

"Well, gee. The girl's still got some spunk left in her."

"Count on it," Buffy muttered. She looked towards the window. Dusk was approaching once again. She didn't dare hoping that anything would be different tonight, that her friends would find her when they hadn't before… but still, deep down, she knew that hope was everything she had left right now. For Angelus it would be a great victory to squeeze the last bit of hope out of her. If nothing else, she would gladly hold on to it just to avoid letting him have that satisfaction.

"Do you know what happens to a person deprived of everything you humans need to function?" Angelus looked at her. "Food, water, rest… _love_? For each hour that passes, another layer gets peeled off. In the end, all that's left is the core. And when that gets exploited…well, it's interesting. It can't really be described. But then again, I plan to show it to you instead."

"I hate you," Buffy spat at him, drenching up a deadly gaze with some of the strength she had left. He smirked.

"Oh, yeah. Hate divides, and love unites. Or, is it the other way around? Hmm. Always seem to get those two mixed up. Either way, let's see which one is stronger, shall we?" Buffy stared at him.

"I don't love you. I never have."

"No." He caressed her cheek softly. "But you love him," he whispered, and Buffy felt her arms starting to shake with anger.

"Don't touch me," she hissed at him, trying to jerk away from his touch.

"Do you know what the best part is?" He got up from the bed, pacing. "It's watching you interact with the part of me that you have made you personal boy-toy." Buffy glared at him.

"_You _are no part of that." He chuckled.

"Really, Buffy, have you learned nothing? I am everything he is. I am a demon – the soul is just… an appendage. The demon survives perfectly on its own, but the soul – doesn't."

"Angel was human once," Buffy argued. "There was no demon in him back then… he was just a man."

"And what a man he was," Angelus scoffed. "That looser died young, and frankly, he had it coming. Don't you get it? Without me… everything that I am, your illusion of 'Angel' wouldn't exist. He would have rotted away in the ground hundreds of years before you were even born."

"So you are a part of him, fine. That doesn't mean you have any influence." Angelus looked at her silently.

"Do you remember the visions… daydreams you had when you were like me? The killing visions?" Buffy stared at him silently. She hadn't told Angel about that. And yet _he_ knew.

"You didn't think I knew about that? Well, honey, those aren't reserved just for you. Angel had them too, you see, all the time. Every moment he is – well, was – playing a good boy, he was jus putting off the inevitable; the demon resurfacing, breaking down his precious self control and acting on instinct. Even when he was," Angelus smirked, "making cutsie-bunny-love to you, he fantasized about killing you." Buffy stared at him, hoping that she was hiding her emotions as well as she thought.

"I don't believe you," she said, but he could hear the slightly tinge of doubt in her voice. "You're just saying this to hurt me."

"The truth has always hurt you," Angelus said lightly. "I think that may be something genetic with you Summers women."

"Don't bring them into this," Buffy hissed.

"How can I not?" Angelus smiled.

"You murdered them. You have no right to talk about them… actually? Don't even _think_ about them." Angelus looked at her in amusement.

"Hmm. I did kill them, and I have only one regret about that." He walked up closely to her, crouching down next to her. "And that is not leaving any of them for you to kill. After all, family blood is always the sweetest."

-

* * *

- 

It was a wonderful human garden, and all the little children were going home with their Mummies and Daddies.

Except for one little girl, who sat all alone outside the daycare center, waiting, staring into the darkness. She had dark brown hair and a purple dress, and her small hands clutched the handrail she was leaning against. So young, so innocent. Still completely unaware that her favorite teachers on the other side of the door she was standing outside had all gone to sleep, never to wake up again.

"Hello," Drusilla said, emerging from the shadows. "What's your name?"

"Annie," the girl answered with the naivety only a five year old could have. "What's yours?" Drusilla tilted her head.

"Drusilla," she said, studying the little girl's milky, soft skin. She would make a wonderful present for Daddy. If he brought her back, he wouldn't be cross with her anymore. Daddy liked little girls. He liked what he could do to them… he liked their high pitched screams. Yes, she was a perfect present.

"Funny name," the girl said, giggling childishly.

"What a pretty dress you're wearing," Drusilla said, drawing closer. "Do you like my pretty dress?"

"Mom says that black is a bad color. She wears black when she's sad. Are you sad?" Drusilla ignored her, moving even closer.

"Where is your Mummy now?"

"She hasn't come to pick me up yet," the little girl said. "She's always late."

"I know what that is like. My Mummy went all away once, and she never came back."

"Why?" the girl said, staring at Drusilla with large, innocent eyes.

"She fell asleep. I found her, sleeping in the garden… under the trees… under the stars. She lay there, staring up at the stars. That was when they started whispering to me."

"The stars talked to you? How did they do that?" Drusilla studied the little girl.

"Do you want to come play with me? It's looks awfully dull up there where you're standing."

"I can't go to the playground when it's dark outside." Drusilla smiled absently.

"Well, that's alright. We can go inside to play instead." She approached the girl and held out her hand. The girl looked at her for a few seconds before she took her hand, and they walked towards the door together.

"I am a Mummy," Drusilla smiled broadly. "Mummies sing for their children… my Mummy used to sing for me, every night. If you go into the woods today you're sure of a big surprise... If you go into the woods today, you better go in disguise…"

The door closed behind them with a bang.

-

* * *

- 

"Are we sure this is the right place?" Gunn gave Xander a look.

"This is the address Cordy gave me. The kindergarten should be here anywhere."

"Wasn't it a daycare center?" Gunn raised his eyebrows.

"There is a difference?"

"She's close," Spike said. "This way."

Giles picked up the tranquilizer gun he was carrying; ready to fire the minute they spotted her. It was safe to say that everyone was a little on edge at the moment. Cordelia, Wesley, Anya and Willow had stayed behind while he, Gunn, Xander and Spike had taken off in hope of finding Drusilla at the address Cordelia had seen in her vision. And also, obviously, save the person she was going to kill.

"I think this is it," Gunn whispered, nodding in the direction of a gray-brownish building.

"Are we sure?" Xander asked. "I mean, there is no sign or…"

He was interrupted mid-sentence by a high pitched shrieking from inside the building, clearly coming from a child.

"Okay. This is it," Xander muttered, and they all took if running to find the entrance. Spike found it first. He swung the door open and entered, closely followed by the others. Giles held his gun at the ready. Xander gripped his crossbow more tightly and Gunn moved a stake to his inner pocket. Spike sniffed in the air, frowning. Blood, and lots of it. He took off in the direction of the strong scent and the others followed him. He froze outside a door leading into the staff common room. He nodded.

"Here," he whispered. He grabbed the doorknob – it was sticky with blood – and opened the door.

There she was. She was sitting at a table in the center of the room, a young girl slumped in her lap. The bodies of three prone women lay around them, all dead. One of them lay face down in a pool of blood. The little girl in Drusilla's lap was bleeding as well.

Drusilla had a sheet of paper on the table in front of her and tried to paint on it with the girl's bloody fingers. Xander felt his stomach turn and had to take a step back. The visuals, the smells in the room… it was horrible. Poor little kid. If she was even alive anymore. Drusilla snapped her head up and looked at Spike as if she was expecting his arrival. Come to think of it, she probably was.

"At six o'clock their mummies and daddies, will take them home to bed, because they're tired little teddy bears," Drusilla crooned in a low voice, as if singing soothingly for the girl. Spike took a step forward, and she saw him.

"Spike, my sweet," she smiled.

"Not your sweet, Dru," Spike muttered. "Let the girl go." Drusilla held the child up by her dress.

"I wanted to play with her. We were finger painting… and then she went to sleep. William… why do all my children go to sleep?"

Spike swallowed, fighting against his instincts. The bodies on the floor… they were fragrant. Smelling sweet and delicious. He shook himself. That wasn't why he was here. She looked at him intensively, and he knew that she could sense his emotions. His hunger… his lust. He looked away. He couldn't hide it from her. Never could.

"Won't you join me, dear heart?" Drusilla sing-songed, letting the child fall to the floor. "I know you want to." Spike looked at the girl. He couldn't hear a heartbeat from her.

"Then you don't know much. That's not why I'm here." Drusilla got up and walked in Spike's direction. Giles held his gun ready, but he needed Drusilla's attention on something else when he fired, or he would never hit her. And he only had three chances.

"Rrrr. Bad boy," Drusilla smiled. "I know what you want… what you crave. My boy is still in there... tied down, but still in there." Spike didn't protest. In fact, if it wasn't for his chip, he would probably switch sides instantly, despite Buffy and everything else.

When Drusilla walked into a patch of light coming from an outside streetlamp, Spike saw that her left cheek had deep purple tone. He extended his hand, touching the wound with his fingertips.

"What happened to you, pet?" he asked softly.

"I was a naughty girl," she murmured. "And Daddy's punishment was most hurtful." She raised her hand and put it over Spike's on her cheek. "Daddy killed her," she revealed. Spike stiffened, as did Gunn, Giles and Xander who stood well in the background, careful not to set Drusilla off.

"He… he what?" Spike swallowed hard.

"Daddy killed Miss Edith." Drusilla removed her hand from Spike's, rocking herself back and forth. "Daddy is very cross tonight."

"Well, we're used to that, aren't we," Spike calmed her, inviting her to his embrace, motioning for Giles to go ahead. Spike had his arms around her, and her back was turned to Giles. He took a step forward, raised his gun, and fired.

In the very same instant Drusilla hissed, grabbed Spike's arm and swung him around, shielding herself from the dart with him. It embedded itself deeply in his back and he looked from Giles to Drusilla with woozy confusion.

"Smart girl. Bloody… hell." With a loud thud he fell to the floor, unconscious. Drusilla hissed at Giles and dodged out of the way from his next dart.

Gunn lunged forward, kicking her backwards. Xander took a deep breath and held it in to avoid another wave of nausea when he stepped into the room and fired his crossbow. He was lucky, Drusilla was busy with Gunn and the arrow hit her in the shoulder. When she turned around to see who was getting her from behind Gunn hit her across the jaw, and she stumbled to the side. Giles took a step forward and fired, hitting her in the upper arm.

"Too late," she smiled chillingly. "Too… late." Her legs buckled beneath her and she slumped to the floor.

"Check the girl," Giles commanded as he quickly chained Drusilla's hands and feet with the manacles he had with him. Gunn crouched next to the pale, bleeding child and felt for a pulse. He swallowed hard, shaking his head.

"She's gone," he whispered. "Damn it." Giles nodded shortly.

"We have to alert the police," he declared. He glanced at Xander whose face had turned a color of ash-gray when he stared at the dead girl. "Xander, will you call them? Gunn and I need to get Drusilla…" he glanced at Spike, "and him, to my car." Xander nodded slowly.

"Yeah… sure." He swallowed hard in hope of relocating his stomach back to where it belonged, which wasn't in the back of his throat. "I'll do that."


	31. COMING HOME

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**CHAPTER 31: COMING HOME  
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"It's dark here. Oh, William, why won't you help me?" A pause. "My boy's gone all away, hasn't he?"

Spike opened his eyes slowly and found himself lying on the floor. What floor, was he still in the kindergarten? No. He raised his head and saw her, maybe ten feet away. She was chained to the wall and sat on the floor, looking straightly at him. As beautiful as ever, he thought.

Right, she was supposed to be the enemy. Well, friends, enemies, steaming lovers... For guys like him, a little hard to keep track of those things.

"It's about time. Did you really think this was the time for a good long nap?" Spike looked up and saw Anya, sitting on a chair behind him. Everyone else was there too, scattered around the… whatever place they were in. Gunn held a crossbow firmly pointed towards Drusilla. How long had he been out? He flinched when he saw that he was lying in the point of a pentagram painted on the floor. What was this place?

"Where are we?" Spike croaked as he got to his feet, feeling the back of his head.

"Mausoleum just a few minutes from my place," Cordelia said, looking at Spike with tired eyes. He looked at her, frowning. "What, did you think I would invite her into my home and keep here there? Not." Spike shrugged.

"So, what's with the party game?" he asked. He glanced at Drusilla, who didn't take his gaze off of him for even a second. "What are you lot doing here?"

"Guarding the basket case over there while you were snoozing," Cordelia replied. "And trying to figure out how we can get her to talk."

"Leave us alone, that's what you can do," Spike said absently, his eyes locked with Drusilla's. Xander snapped his head up.

"Leave you alone?" He looked at Giles. "We're leaving them alone now? We're _not_ leaving them alone!"

"Well, Spike, er…" Giles faltered. "With all due respect…"

Spike whipped around, staring at Giles. "You have respect for me?"

Giles frowned. "Well, no. But the point is, you'll have to accept the fact that we feel the need for someone to stay here with you."

"What," Spike snarked, "you don't trust me?"

"Exactly," Giles replied dryly. Spike nodded.

"Fair enough. Charlie can stay." Gunn frowned and nodded slowly.

"The rest of you; scram, as of now," Spike declared.

"That's okay," Willow murmured as everyone got up slowly on tired, aching legs and headed out from the mausoleum. "If Spike can't get her to talk, I think I have a spell that might cut it."

As soon as the gate shut behind them, Spike walked closer to Drusilla. When he was maybe five feet away from her he heard Gunn clear his throat, and he stopped, knowing what the armed man behind him thought about vampires. If he got to close he might very well end up an arrow-cushion.

"Dru, pet," he said softly, and she looked up at him.

"Don't you love me anymore, my sweet?" she sing-songed. "Don't you?"

"Dru…" Spike began, but she shook her head.

"You don't, do you… You used to love me, inside to outside. But now… you love her. I knew… first time you saw her, I knew."

She started rocking herself back and forth. "Everyone has someone new," she muttered. She stopped rocking and raised her head, looking at Spike with a smug smile on her face. "I do too, you know. I have _him_." Spike swallowed.

"Him, who?" Spike frowned to himself. Was she talking about Angelus? Didn't sound like it. The bugger wasn't anything close to new, either. "There is someone new?" Drusilla smiled broadly.

"Very new," she whispered. "Shhh. Don't tell."

"Look, Drusilla, you know why we're here. You know where the royal wanker is hiding his cowardly ass, don't you? Why don't you tell me."

"No telling, no, no… Daddy will be angry."

Spike extended a hand and indicated Drusilla's bruised cheek. "He did that to you, didn't he?" Drusilla looked at him with big, dark eyes.

"I was a bad girl… just like always."

"Just tell me where he is, and I'll show him what he'll get for messing with my girl."

"He's… he's right opposite me." Drusilla stared at Spike with absent, tear filled eyes. "Church bells ringing, ringing… I seek a sanctuary… and he's there." Her gaze focused again and she looked sorrowfully at Spike. "I'm a devil child. I've always been bad. No deliverance. Only damnation," she sobbed quietly. Spike frowned to himself. This was all wrong. She was all wrong. Something was seriously off with her, and he couldn't figure out what.

"I know a thing or two about being bad," he replied patiently. "Dru, just tell me, and I'll let you go. If you don't tell me, the bloody scout parade'll take over. Something tells me their methods will be painful."

"Pain is a friend… when you have nothing else, you can always trust pain to tell you… tell you that you're still alive," Drusilla said, sending chills down Spike's spine when he recognized those words as Angelus' from a long time ago.

Angelus liked pain. He liked what it did to people, and he liked what it made them do. And when they had nothing left – no family, no friends, no hope, occasionally no limbs… he would tell them that when everything else was gone, pain would always remain. It was their closest friend – everything they had when they died.

Even back then that had been twisted in Spike's opinion. He had never been much for the artistic kills, the thrill of tormenting his victims just for kicks. Back in the day his dominant, cocky grandsire had given him a huge inferiority complex by convincing him that Spike was the strange one – a pitiful excuse for a vampire, but nowadays, he had his opinion clear. Angelus was insane. Simple as that.

"Yeah, well, I'm talking the kind of pain that precedes death. Ugly, simple death," Spike continued calmly.

"You're jealous." Drusilla stared deeply into Spike's eyes, and after just a few seconds he frowned and looked away.

"What?" he asked. He swallowed hard. He hated how she could always read him like an open book, how he could never hide anything from her… how she was always right, on some level.

"You're jealous of him. Jealous that he has her… that he can do all the naughty little things you've dreamed about whenever he wants. You want it too. You want to be him. Always did."

Spike swallowed. "With that forehead? Hell no," he said shortly. Drusilla smiled faintly and shook her head.

"You should be careful, Willie. You eventually become the one you pretend to be. Do you really want to be who you claim right now?"

Spike clenched his fists, feeling anger well up inside. Not towards her exactly, because she was only telling him the truth... he knew that. It was pathetic really, him switching to the goody-goody side just because he had a chip in his brain. Maybe it was just an excuse... maybe he had been fooling himself this last year, to think that it was the chip controlling him.

Maybe Drusilla was right. Maybe Angelus had always been right... he really _was_ a pitiful excuse for a vampire. Would Angelus have turned all mushy because of a few millimeters worth of steel and wire? No, he wouldn't - he would have found a way around it. Spike stared at Drusilla, frustration and anger and only a little fear that she might be right coursing through his body.

"You don't fancy who I am?" Spike's eyes darkened and he moved all the way up to Drusilla in two large steps and grabbed her by the throat. "Try this, then! Like this better? Like me more when I'm smacking you around like your beloved sire? Well, do you!" He banged her head against the cold stone wall repeatedly. "Tell me! Tell me where they are, you stupid, worthless…"

"Spike!" Spike felt a hand on his shoulder and stumbled backwards when Gunn pushed him away from Drusilla. He was just aiming to take a swing at him when he realized that it wasn't worth the headache. Yes it was, damn it! He was a vampire, and a vampire shouldn't be afraid of a little pain. A vampire is supposed to love pain.

Still... no. He didn't feel like smacking Gunn when he knew what the price would be. Instead he stared menacingly at him for a few seconds before he turned his gaze back to Drusilla who was laughing. Hard. Blood trickled from her temple and her body convulsed in amusement.

"You stay put," Gunn commanded sternly with a look at the still chuckling Drusilla. "I'm getting the others, we don't have time for this."

"Oh, don't be such a ninny! I'll get here to talk in time."

"We don't _have_ time," Gunn sighed. "If we're gonna have any chance of finding them tonight, we have to hurry." Gunn pushed the heavy gate open and revealed the rest of the gang waiting there. They looked expectantly at him and he shook his head. "Any ideas?" he asked.

"Actually yes," Giles said. "Willow reminded me about a spell we discussed using on Spike a while back, but we never got around to it. A truth spell."

"Truth spell!" Spike scoffed. "Oh, please. Remember bloody well how that went last time."

"Only because the spell wasn't finished," Willow said patiently. "This time, it will. This time, _I_ will." She handed a bundle of some kind of herbs to Giles.

"Motherwort," she explained. "You light it, and I say the incantation."

"Hold on. Are we really sure this trick works on vampires? What if it turns her to a – a bloody cockroach?" Spike glared at Willow.

"You have the book here?" Giles asked ignoring Spike, frowning when he saw Drusilla's bloody face, and how she tried to reach the blood with her tongue.

"Well, no. Actually I copied the spell from the book, along with a few others… thought it could be good to have around, you know, in case of emergency."

"I saw when she did it," Anya cut in. "She wanted to take books from the store, but I told her she couldn't do that without paying for them. So she committed plagiarism instead."

"I did not," Willow protested. "Plagiarism is when you steal something and call it your own. I just – borrowed the spells."

"That's just a tackier way of stealing if you ask me. You pay for things you want. That's the key to our capitalistic society." Anya muttered. Willow put her hands on her hips.

"I don't remember asking for your opinion."

"Girls, please," Wesley said tiredly. "Lives in danger, world in peril, actions of great importance?"

"Right," Willow muttered.

"Hmm, yes." Giles scowled. "Let's just – go on with the spell, shall we." He pulled out a lighter from his jacket and lit the incense. Willow faced Drusilla and cleared her throat.

"Enemy, enemy, be now quiet," she spoke in a low voice. Drusilla cocked her head.

"It's happening," she laughed. "Too late. Too late!"

"Let your deceitful tongue be broken. Let no untruths be spoken. Enemy – subdue to my will and answer my questions as I command."

Drusilla stared at Willow, smiling broadly as ever, her eyes somewhat absent.

"She doesn't seem very different, does she," Xander murmured. No one answered him.

"Where is Angelus?" Willow demanded, wasting no time. Just as she thought that the spell must have failed, Drusilla opened her mouth to speak.

"Places of the past… people of the past. Everything is past, yet the time is very present. They are here, but then."

"Is it just me, or does that seem even less understandable than usual?" Xander said.

"I need more. _Where_ are they?" Willow asked again.

"It reeks of old conflict. And pain. Tragedy came crashing down… and it all ended with a bang. Lovely fire." Drusilla closed her eyes. "Ooh, I see Daddy. Heading there… it's dark and warm where he is. He is worried."

"Angelus is worried?" Xander said. "Can he be _worried _now?"

"Friend in the hospital. Can't help. Can't make it better."

"What is this?" Willow said in bewilderment, turning and looking at Cordelia and Wesley for help. "What is she talking about?"

"She sees the past," Wesley realized. A horrified expression spread across his face. "Dear lord, I know where he is."

"BOOM!" They all flinched at the sudden sound from Drusilla. "Terrible shockwave. He is thrown back but springs forward yet again. Has to save the friend. Oh, he cares so much. Wesley! Wesley!" She called out, looking straight at him. "Wes."

"We have to hurry if we're gonna make it before sunrise," Wesley stated, looking at Cordelia. "You will have to go with them. I can't move fast enough up the stairs like this. Or through all the debris." Cordelia nodded shortly.

"Debris? Where are we going?" Giles inquired. "Do you- do you know where they are?"

"Yeah," Cordelia said bitterly. "I do."

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It wasn't hard to imagine that the tall building had been rather majestic and very much Angel's style once upon a time – that was before Voca's little parlor trick had turned it into scrap. The building was still standing, but it was barely, and it was completely ruined inside. All tenants had been forced to move out after the explosion and the building was dark and abandoned, awaiting either demolition or renovation.

"My, my," Spike muttered, leaping out of Giles' car. "Must say this place's gone downhill since last time I saw it. Like most things Angelus gets his mitts on."

"This is… it's…" Giles trailed off. "This building used to be your office?"

"Well, not all of it," Cordelia said. "But a part of it. Until unspeakable fiends from hell blew it to smithereens. Well, you know the drill." She leaned against Gunn's truck. Wesley had stayed behind with Drusilla. She knew that he wouldn't be able to do anything if Drusilla attempted an escape, but they couldn't spare any of the capable fighters to guard a chained vampire. They would need all their strength to take down Angelus. She swallowed. Okay, that notion was terrifying enough simply thinking about. How would they be able to actually do it in a few minutes?

"Okay, so what do we do?" Willow asked the obvious question. "We don't have much time before sunrise."

"It seems reckless to walk straight in there," Anya commented.

"Yeah, it definitely sounds like the ingredients for 'be afraid and die'," Cordelia agreed. "But we can't just stand here."

"Buffy needs us. I say charge!" Xander said bravely and made a move to walk inside. The others glared at him.

"Good Xander," Cordelia said sarcastically. "Scream really loudly so Angelus can hear us before we come in. Because we _want_ to give him that advantage."

"You don't have to be sarcastic about it," Xander muttered. "I just wanna help before it's too late."

"Snapping and bitching saves no Slayers," Gunn said. "What do you say, the ones of us that consider ourselves capable fighters – bearing in mind what we're up against, go inside with all the weapons we have on deck… The rest can wait out here. If we can get Buffy out, someone needs to help her get into one of the cars."

Giles nodded. "That sounds sensible. Willow, Anya, I suggest you stay outside."

"But I want to help," Willow objected.

"Then stay out here and wait for Buffy," Giles said sharply. He knew that Willow wanted to use magic to help them in the fight, and he also knew that her spells could do more harm than good. Her use of magic that was out of her knowledge was a danger not only to herself but everyone around her.

"The rest of you, choose for yourself if you want to come with," Giles continued, glancing at Cordelia and Xander. He knew that Cordelia was a much stronger fighter now than when she lived in Sunnydale, and that he probably couldn't stop Xander from coming with. He would take any chance of getting to hurt Angelus. "Alright, then," he continued. "Then let's split the weapons we have between us and move."

"Yeah, we've wasted enough time already," Xander commented.

Xander and Cordelia ended up with crossbows, Giles with a crossbow and a baseball bat, Spike had a simple stake and Gunn grabbed his own bat sharpened into a stake and his axe.

"Are we ready?" Giles asked.

"Is 'no' an acceptable answer?" Xander gulped. There was no one in the group that didn't agree with him – accept maybe for Spike, who was known for leaping headlong into trouble without thinking about it and always jumped at a chance to kick a little Angelus-butt.

They moved inside the building quickly and quietly. Cordelia took point and led them up to the entrance into their old offices. The glanced at the nowadays somewhat lopsided sign saying "Angel Investigations" and she felt sad for a moment. A lot had happened in this place. Not all of it good... but a lot of it. Despite drug induced visits from Angelus, demons wanting to cut her eyes out, little kids possessed by demons... and cockroaches, she had some good memories from the time she spent here.

She had made friends for life here. Who knew where she would have been today if she hadn't met Angel at that party?

Well, she certainly wouldn't have been right here, crossbow at the ready, hunting for Angelus with horrible pain and deaths as a possible outcome. She swallowed hard and turned to the rest of the gang, indicating the door. She realized that the moment they stepped into the offices Angelus would know they were there, if he didn't already. Even if he was downstairs he would be prepared for them.

Cordelia nodded at Gunn. They both grabbed the door, which was firmly stuck in its place, and pulled it open.


	32. DEMOLITION

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**CHAPTER 32: DEMOLITION**

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Cordelia had forgotten how bad the place looked. Or maybe it had just gone downhill since the last time she was here… last summer, when she, Angel and Wesley had salvaged whatever hadn't been burnt or destroyed in the crash. And that wasn't a whole lot, except for most of Angel's weapons that weren't in the cabinet with the mystical bomb, a few chairs, and piles of books that had miraculously made it.

Cordy stepped carefully over her old desk that had simply collapsed. Why hadn't anything been done about the building yet? It was the usual, of course. Red tape, money, decisions to be made by men in costumes who hadn't even seen what they were babbling on about.

Cordelia stopped at the stairs. This wasn't right. Apart for the five of them, she couldn't hear any sounds, not anything at all. There were no lights coming from downstairs. Of course, she wasn't even sure that the electricity in the building was still working.

The knowledge that Angelus might be downstairs, waiting patiently for them in the dark was more than a little disturbing. A horrible scene of what he might do to them – and to her first, since she was taking point – went through her head. Would he kill them off, or just remove a few minor limbs from each of them? It all depended on how he wanted to play this, of course. Where would Buffy be? Still alive? Undead and waiting for them with her murderous beau? If she was alive… would she have the strength to fight him with them if they could just her out of the prison he surely must be holding her in?

Spike's senses were peeked. He was ready for a fight. He was still angry about what Drusilla had told him, and even though joining this gang to go and thump Angelus wasn't exactly proving his point, more like just the opposite, it was the only thing he could think of to release some of his aggressions. He could smell Angelus, all over the place. He was here alright.

Cordelia winced at the loud creaking of the stairs. Had they ever been this loud before? Was this extra creaking just to freak her out? After all it wouldn't make any difference for Angelus, he would already know they were there. So what was she so afraid of, then?

That was a really dumb question.

When she, Gunn and Giles had made it to the landing in the middle of the stairs, Spike stopped and stared into the darkness, eerily aware that Angelus was there somewhere, but unable to pinpoint his exact location. He could smell something ill-boding. Wonderful and sweet… but ill-boding. Such as blood. And the next minute, the lights came back on and revealed the scene before them.

Everyone except Spike blinked against the light, momentarily blinded, but everyone caught up fast. Downstairs, Angelus stood casually leaned back against the wall. They couldn't see Buffy at first but then, they spotted her. They couldn't see much of her as she was lying in a couch turned away from them, but they could see that her small frame was very still, very pale… frighteningly limp. But right now it didn't matter how she was, they would need to get her out either way and they would need to mow down Angelus do accomplish that.

Angelus sneered at them. So full of himself, just as always. He didn't even bother to take cover, which might have been a good move, seeing how he had three crossbows aiming at his heart and five opponents who hated him with a fiery vengeance and any moment would do anything to pay back for whatever pain he had caused Buffy, and then some.

There was a second of stillness, of the kind of creepy calm that will only occur before something really bad. The hurricane size kind of bad. Or, the taking on Angelus kind of bad. Either way.

The stillness was finally broken by Giles who stepped forward with a grim expression on his face and fired his crossbow. Angelus dodged out of the way and the arrow got stuck in the wall behind him instead. Giles reloaded his crossbow and Gunn jumped over the banister and Spike followed his example.

Cordelia and Xander aimed and fired, and they both missed completely. Cordelia furrowed her brow. Was he moving even faster than usual?

Spike jumped over a burnt armchair that stood in his way and moved closer to Angelus with stone cold determination. Angelus eyes moved between Xander, Cordelia, Giles, Gunn and Spike – and he laughed. Despite the fact that he was outnumbered and should be, if not scared at least realize his disadvantage… but no. He just laughed heartily at them.

"I'll damn well give you something to snicker about," Spike muttered before he attacked Angelus with a furious flurry of kicks and punches.

Angelus blocked most of his moves well, but the distraction gave the others a few seconds of moving down the stairs and back up Spike. Giles, Xander and Gunn surrounded the fighting vampires while Cordelia remained in her spot, trying to get a clean shot with her crossbow – not the easiest task since she had to avoid hitting anyone else.

When Angelus felt a burning pain in his left shoulder he hissed and whipped around, instinctively striking out at the person that hurt him. The satisfied smile that crossed Gunn's face for a second when he managed to cut Angelus with his axe disappeared quickly when he found himself flying across the room and smacking against the wall, gasping for air.

While Angelus' attention was directed the other way Spike got in a lucky strike and grinned broadly when he saw his sire's blood on his knuckles. Angelus growled, struck out at him and grabbed him by the collar, unceremoniously sending Xander and Giles to the floor by slamming Spike into them.

For a moment he was the only one standing – something that he realized before Cordelia came to the same conclusion. He caught her arrow out of the air and threw it back at her, forcing her to retreat and take cover.

Spike was back on his feet in a second and grabbed Xander's crossbow on the way up. He lunged at Angelus with the crossbow raised, and with the knowledge that Angelus could catch the arrows in the air he wanted to get as close to him as possible before he fired.

Gunn and Giles had their respective bats at the ready and Gunn was the first to strike, he tried to hit Angelus in the head but he moved out of the way.

Giles moved quickly and silently – at least he hoped so, and when he finally struck out he almost managed to land a blow over Angelus' neck. Only that was just it – almost. In the last moment Angelus caught the bat with his left hand and pushed it back towards Giles, hitting him in the forehead at the same time as he rendered Spike harmless with a swift kick between the legs.

Spike doubled over and fired the crossbow in the process, but the arrow only grazed Angelus' arm. Xander had grabbed Gunn's pointed bat and seething with rage and hatred he ran towards Angelus with it.

Angelus sneered at him but was actually a little impressed to see that no fear whatsoever came off the puny boy as he ran towards what might be his ugly death. Hell, if he didn't hate him so much he might turn him, just to see what kind of vampire he would make. He might have the potential to be a little more than the average sewer rat.

Angelus blocked his move with the bat and kicked it out of his hand. He grabbed Xander by the shoulders, head butted him and pushed him backwards roughly, sending him crashing into the weakened stair banister that collapsed under his weight and pieces of wood rained over him.

Angelus observed that Spike was still struggling to his feet, that Giles seemed to have ducked out of the fight the usual way – by getting himself knocked unconscious – and that Gunn had come to the realization that attacking him without backup would be suicide. Cordelia must have hit her right arm when she threw herself out of the way, because she was currently huddled in a protected corner, trying both to hold and reload her crossbow with her left hand.

He smiled at the scattered remnants of the pitiful group... his "opponents". He could just take them out one by one – but that wasn't what he wanted, and not even close to what he had planned. Besides, it wasn't his style. He wanted to make them retreat with the knowledge that they had failed and that their incompetence may or may not have cost Buffy her life rather than simply killing them.

Xander didn't give up that easy. He grabbed the pointiest piece of wood he could see, got up and lunged at Angelus again. That oversized coward may be able to break and beat his body, but anything short of death wouldn't be able to make him stop trying.

Angelus looked somewhat amused when Xander came at him again, a little less amused when Spike regained his senses at the same time and Gunn took the opportunity to attack from another direction.

He managed to kick the axe from Gunn's hand before he grabbed Xander's arm and swiftly drove the piece of wood into his own leg. As satisfying as it would have been to put in the gut, chest or neck instead and watch the blood splatter as the little pest died, he had other things in mind for Xander. He wanted him around for later.

Xander wailed and stumbled backwards, clutching his leg, crying out in pain. Spike got a hold of the axe, roared in fury and lunged at Angelus with it. Angelus backed a few steps and that would all have been good and well unless he had almost tripped over a stirring Giles that had regained enough consciousness to hit Angelus in the hollow of his knees with his bat.

Angelus stomped down on Giles' wrist and kicked him in the head but found himself pinned against the wall by Spike before he could regain his footing. A second before the axe would have severed his head he caught the blade and growled angrily when he felt it sink into his palms.

He stood face to face with Spike now and the blonde vampire put all his weight and strength behind it, but despite that Angelus was stronger – a lot stronger, and Spike was more frustrated and angry than surprised when he was pushed back and had the axe taken from him.

When Angelus was distracted Cordelia had taken the risk of moving from the stairs and helping a badly bleeding Xander to safety. She saw the power demonstration between the two vampires up close when she tried to get Giles to his feet.

This was bad. They weren't doing very well and the only victory they could claim so far was that they were all still alive… that was only because Angelus had chose not to kill them, but who knew then his tactics might change? They needed to get out of here. Now. She supported Giles back to the stairs and shouted at Gunn.

"Gunn, we have to get out of here!" He looked at her and she could see that he had come to the same conclusion. He glanced at Buffy's still form on the couch.

"What about her?"

Back at the stairs Cordelia grabbed her crossbow again. She saw Angelus duck a blow from Spike and slice him with the axe while he sent Gunn sprawling with a roundhouse kick.

When only Angelus and Spike were standing, Cordelia had a clean shot, and with her left hand shivering she pulled the trigger. For a moment the arrow aimed exactly at the right spot on Angelus' back, and Cordelia as soon as the arrow left the crossbow, she actually panicked.

She had done it, she had killed Angelus. She could almost see the arrow hit its spot with a thud and Angelus dissolve to dust. The end of the terror, but also the end of the truest friend she had ever had. For a moment she regretted her deed.

She didn't have to for long though. Angelus heard the whistling as the arrow came at him. He grabbed the weakened and bleeding Spike and swung the lighter vampire around as a shield. The arrow aiming for Angelus' heart hit the shorter Spike in the shoulder.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed as he tried to turn around and get at Angelus. He smiled coldly and grabbed the arrow and twisted it around. Since it was at a safe distance from his heart, Spike wouldn't die from it, but it still hurt like hell. With a simple kick to the gut, Angelus put him out of action.

While Angelus was busy with Spike, Gunn snuck behind him in hope of reaching Buffy before Angelus realized what he was doing. Cordelia took a few steps forward with her crossbow freshly loaded and Angelus sauntered towards her – seemingly completely unconcerned with the fact that he had a weapon aimed at his chest. In theory, his unlife depended on whether Cordelia did or didn't pull the trigger. In _theory_.

Cordelia felt chills run down her spine when she saw that he was coming straightly towards her, his gaze locked with hers.

"Stop right there, or you'll be Ashelus from now on," she tried to menace with a slightly shaking voice. He laughed out loud, as if she had just made a funny joke. She felt her heart sink. When your threats result in your nemesis laughing you right in the face – that's not generally a good sign.

"Funny," he said simply, and then looked at something far behind Cordelia. She was sure he was only doing it to make her look as well, which would take her attention off him long enough for him to move – or possibly take her out of action... She shuddered – she really didn't want to think about what he might do to render her harmless.

"I think you're a little late for joining in on the fun," Angelus said to someone over Cordelia's shoulder.

Cordelia was confused. Who was he talking to? Something told her that the two alternatives of turning around to see who it was or remain faced in Angelus' direction were equally bad.

"But feel free to join in, if you've learned your lesson by now," he continued.

"Cordy, watch out!" Gunn yelled at her. She finally realized that there was a real danger behind her and turned around – standing face to face with Drusilla.

"Oh, shit," she hissed between her teeth. Her mind raced for a second, and one of her first thoughts, along with the alarming fear for her life, was what Drusilla had done to Wesley. Of course, if Drusilla slit her throat here and now, she wouldn't really have to worry about that. How had she come in, anyway? The sewer tunnel. Of course.Why hadn't they thought of that? They could have flanked Angelus, attacked him from two angles.

"Sssss," Drusilla hissed, raising her right hand with two fingers extended. Cordelia silently wondered how many eyes those sharp, sharp nails had scratched out. Then again, she didn't really want to know.

"Nuh-uh, don't do that," Angelus muttered as he pulled Gunn away from the couch and flung him towards the stairs.

Angelus moved closer to Cordelia and Drusilla, and Spike could see that it wasn't going to end well. He pulled his stake out of his pocket and launched a new attack on Angelus. Caught off guard, Angelus didn't have time to move out of the way and instead he grabbed Drusilla and pulled her in front of him, smiling gleefully when he saw Spike thrust the take into his sire's chest and realized his mistake too late.

"Dru!" he called out in shock. For a moment he was sure that he had done the same shameful deed as Angel had by killing his sire. But instead of exploding into a cloud of dust, Drusilla hissed angrily, pulled the stake out of her chest and smacked Spike in the face.

"Silly Spike," she hissed. "Never make Mummy angry!" Taking advantage of Spike's momentary shock, she sent him sprawling with a spinning kick before she darted away and guarded the couch where Buffy lay, effectively blocking it from anyone that might still feel heroic in any way.

"Come on, Gunn, Spike, now!" Cordelia yelled as she fled back upstairs, feeling a sting of guilt for running like this.

She was relieved that she had escaped alive, but that was just about all that she was relieved about. This has been useless. Nothing good had come out of their attack. Despite the odds they had been crushed... demolished. Now they were beaten and bloody, not to mention that their absence had allowed Drusilla to escape and they hadn't even been able to get close enough to Buffy to see if she was still alive.

What champions they were.

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_A/N: I've struggled with this chapter for a few days - writing a long, detailed fight with several characters like this is a little tricky. You have to be sure that you don't leave any loose ends such as characters who just seem to stand on the side without participating... it can't be too long since it would be boring to read but not to short either as it has to be realistic. I think it turned out okay, though. _


	33. WANTED: REMEDY

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**CHAPTER 21: WANTED: REMEDY  
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"Spike, could use some help here!" Gunn was helping the badly limping Xander down the steps outside the building. Cordelia handed Giles a rag to put over the profusely bleeding cut on his forehead.

"Sorry Charlie, I'm parboiling out here!" Spike pulled his coat over his head and took of at a brisk pace over the street into a patch of shadow next to the cars. Gunn shook his head at him and gave Cordelia a thankful look when she helped him support Xander who grimaced and clenched his teeth to avoid whimpering.

"Ah, ah… stopping here, the giant splinter requires," he said between gritted teeth when they had made it down the stairs. Gunn helped him sit down and stretch out his wounded leg as much as he could. Cordelia looked back at the building warily. Not that she thought that Angelus or Drusilla would follow them… not really. But if they were, she had her crossbow ready. She held her right arm as still as possible close to her body. She didn't think it was badly wounded, but it had taken a hit in the fight and was still aching whenever she moved it.

"Xander!" Anya yelled. She and Willow came running up to the group as soon as they spotted them.

"Oh god! What happened?" Willow wailed as soon as she saw Xander, pale and sweating on the ground, his left pant leg soaked with blood. She looked at each and everyone of the four bruised… actually, more like crushed, people before her. They were all bloody and Cordelia was the only one without any visible, bleeding, injuries.

"Angelus. Stake. Leg." Xander managed to say. It told her enough to connect the dots. Willow swallowed hard. Angelus had done this to them all by himself? Had he used his downtime to meditate and get in touch with an ever bigger superiority complex?

"Let's look at this from the bright side, at least he didn't stake you between your legs," Anya said, comforting in her own way, but despite her quipping there was a worried frown on her face. She understood that it was serious, she just didn't know how to handle it... what the correct, proper way was to react.

"Xander, I gotta remove this," Gunn said. "The pain will be less when you don't have a large piece of wood penetrating your flesh, promise." Xander nodded.

"Is that really the right way to do it?" Anya protested. "What if he bleeds to death? What if the wood is the only thing that stops his arteries from spurting all over the place? 'Cause I've seen that in the Trauma programme. Discovery channel?" Xander looked queasy, and Gunn shook his head.

"It won't," he said, frowning. "Maybe it's not exactly how a doctor would do it, but I've seen wounds like this before. A lot."

"Just do it," Xander said, almost choking on his words. For a Slayer or a vampire, this would have been a minor wound. However, being a regular human, one that wasn't used to being impaled, Xander was in great pain. Gunn grabbed the stake lightly and pulled it out with one steady motion. Xander let out a loud scream but was forced to bite it back quickly when he felt bile rise in the back of his throat. He held his head down and concentrated fully on breathing deeply. Anything to avoid passing out… or mixing the blood on his clothes with puke.

Gunn gave the wound as close a look as he could without removing the clothing. "I don't think anything is badly wounded, it's probably just a flesh wound, but you might wanna have a doctor take a look at it anyway." He looked at Xander's pale face with a frown. "Maybe you could get yourself some nice little painkillers too."

"Pain. Killers. Sounds. Nice." Xander tried to smile, but it came out as a pained grimace instead.

Willow moved her weight from one foot to the other. So things hadn't gone well. She could see that much. Things had gone very… unwell, by the looks of it. But how bad was it? Had they seen Buffy? Was she… okay? Would it be insensitive of her to ask?

"Is anybody else hurt?" Giles asked, removing the rag from his forehead for a moment to check the bleeding.

"Mentally bruised," Cordelia commented. "Kinda comes with the territory your friend wants, and tries to rip you to shreds. But no physical wounds." Gunn agreed silently. He felt like a minotaur had stomped all over him after the beating he had taken, but he wasn't seriously wounded. Mostly just discouraged and disappointed in their failing attempt to save Buffy.

"We should… uh, we should try to figure out our next move," Giles continued, feeling a strong urge to clean his glasses. He abandoned that impulse though since his hands were sticky with blood. Besides, he could really only use his left hand.

"What about that hand, Giles?" Cordelia said. She had noticed that he didn't use it. "Is the wrist broken?"

"I don't think so, but it does hurt a great deal," he admitted. He turned away the bloody side of his face when a car passed on the street. "This, ah, I don't think this is the place for this," he suggested.

"Right," Cordelia said. "I guess we should…"

"Here," Giles gave his rag to Xander. "Tie this around the wound; it will reduce the bleeding when you move the leg."

Anya helped him tie the wound and supported him across the street.

"So what really happened in there?" she asked him silently.

"A lot. And nothing. That's what happened," Xander muttered bitterly, thinking back at their failure. He couldn't decide who to blame. Gunn, for not grabbing Buffy when he had the chance? Cordelia for staying at the stairs and not getting into the fight herself? Giles, for getting himself knocked unconscious… again? Spike, just for being Spike? Or maybe himself, he thought darkly. He had gotten several openings to get to Angelus, but he had been too slow, too weak or too much of a coward to use them. Or maybe they were all to blame.

Angelus was one vampire, just one. How could a vampire, a former watcher, two demon hunters… and one idiot lose against that?

"Giles, if you lend Anya your car, she can take Xander to the hospital, and you can go with them," Cordelia suggested.

Giles looked uncertain. Was it wise to split up the group? And, did he really want Anya to drive his car…? He had only wounded one arm, surely he could drive with the other. Then again, he had been knocked unconscious, and he was pretty sure there were some regulations against driving with a possible concussion.

"We have to get back to the mausoleum as quickly as possible," Cordelia continued. Giles clenched his jaw. Of course. Wesley. He had momentarily repressed that part of their failure – not only had they been knocked thoroughly to the ground by Angelus, Drusilla had managed to escape in the process.

"Yes, yes of course," Giles said.

"The mausoleum, what about it?" Willow cut in.

"I'll tell you on the way," Cordelia said shortly. She opened the door to Gunn's truck. "We'll have to scrounge in," she said without enthusiasm. She looked at Giles. "So, I guess we'll meet back at my place later." Giles nodded slowly, and Cordelia could see what he thought.

Hopefully they would be able to meet back at her apartment, rather than the morgue.

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"So… what really happened in there?" Willow asked the obvious question. She sucked a breath in and held it. Spike hadn't complained much about having to sit in the back of a truck, huddled under a blanket and a thick tarpaulin and leaned in through the window… and that worried her. If something wasn't seriously wrong, he would be complaining loudly about that, she knew him well enough to be sure of it. So far she had gotten Cordelia to tell her that Drusilla had escaped and shown up, but that was about it.

"It went really bad," Cordelia said shortly.

"Okay, that much I understood for myself. But what happened? Did you see Buffy?"

"Yeah," Cordelia revealed without enthusiasm. "We saw her."

"And how was she?" Willow prodded. Cordelia glanced at Gunn.

"You got a pretty close view. Did you see if… how she was?"

"No. But I think she was… mean, I couldn't see any wounds." Gunn kept his gaze firmly on the road. Buffy's eyes had been closed and most of her covered by a blanket, and he hadn't caught more than a glimpse really… Maybe she really was alive. Despite the fact that he hadn't seen her chest move and that she had been really pale. He sniffed to himself. Who was he kidding here?

"Yeah," Cordelia agreed. "I think she was alive."

"What, are you people hammered or something?" Spike cut off. "Slayer's dead, damn it! Any ninny would understand that." An uncomfortable silence followed. Gunn clutched the wheel harder and Cordelia stared blankly out the window. They had known it on some level. But hearing it flat out made it more tangible… forcing them to process the fact that they had been too late. That Buffy had been killed only a few days after her resurrection because they hadn't acted fast enough or known where to look for her. Willow swallowed.

"Are you- are you sure?" she asked in a small voice.

"Dead sure." There was a tinge of bitterness… of sorrow in Spike's voice. "She was… you could see that she…" he faltered. "And with Angelus being all juiced up. No doubt there, Red."

"Juiced up? What do you…" Willow interrupted herself, realizing. "Oh." She turned away when she felt tears burning behind her eyelids.

She didn't know what to feel. It was as if some higher power was just toying with everyone's feelings. First Buffy got turned – and then they managed to magically restore her soul, and everything was okay, mostly, for a while. Then the Council killed her and Angel got mad… And then she was resurrected, Angel loses his soul, and Buffy gets turned again?

But she hadn't risen yet, which must mean that it had happened… that he had done it to her recently. And that still meant that she had been trapped in there for days. Trapped and scared and tormented. She blinked away tears that welled over. How could they let her go through all that?

"You shouldn't have done this," Willow murmured bitterly. Cordelia glanced at her.

"What's that?"

"Nothing." Willow kept quiet. They were almost at the mausoleum. There wasn't time for this now.

There wasn't any shadow at all outside the mausoleum as it was just another southern Californian day, the sun already shining, so Spike stayed in the car. The other three hurried inside.

When Cordelia grabbed the door to open it she tried to prepare herself for what they might find inside. Maybe Drusilla had been in a hurry. Of course that didn't necessarily mean that she hadn't taken the time to kill him… She felt cold chills run down her spine. Wesley and she hadn't always been the most obvious friends. There was the pathetic crush-thing that had been going on in high school, and they had always been bickering a lot… but during the last year he had quickly grown into one of her dearest, closest friends. She wasn't sure if she would be able to go on just like that if she found him in five pieces inside. She held her breath when she pushed the door open.

"Wesley?" They spotted him instantly, his chair had been knocked over and he was lying on his back, still partly in it. But he wasn't dead – he was breathing. He raised a hand when he heard them come in and grunted in pain.

"God, Wesley, are you hurt?" Cordelia kneeled next to him.

"I rather think so, yes," he muttered. "But that's nothing new under the sun, is it?" Cordelia frowned.

"What do you mean…?"

"She didn't do anything to me," he revealed. "She just… hit me in the head and knocked the chair over." He moved and grimaced painfully. "Which is really quite enough when dealing with someone who was… _compressed_ in a car wreckage a few days ago." He wasn't sure how long he had been lying there – he had drifted in and out of unconsciousness from the pain and hadn't been able to get up by himself.

"Well, good," Cordelia said. "Good."

"Okay, man, let's get you up," Gunn suggested. Cordelia helped Wesley to move away from the chair and supported him while he got to his feet and Gunn set the wheel chair up again. Wesley stared at it with disgust.

"I think I'm done with that thing," he said. "I'll just use the cane instead." He looked from Gunn to Cordelia and back. Gunn was bruised and both of them had blood on their clothes. He wondered silently if it was too much to hope that some of the blood was Angelus'. And where were all the others, waiting outside? Or... something he would rather not think about? He clutched his side in pain when he sighed. His broken ribs were making themselves known. And felt. The hard fall to the floor hadn't exactly helped.

"So," he murmured. "Do I want to know how things went?"

"No," Cordelia said solemnly. "But I guess we should tell you anyway."

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It was a tired and low-spirited group that entered Cordelia's apartment twenty minutes later. Gunn threw himself in a chair and Willow sat down more lightly at the end of another. Spike sat down in the couch as far away from the others as possible while Wesley struggled to his seat, trying to sit down without pissing off the ribs. Cordelia remained standing, shifting.

"Help yourself if you want something to drink," she said absently to no one in particular. "I need to… change clothes."

She caught a view of herself in the mirror and stared at the figure she saw with disgust. That figure wasn't Cordelia Chase – successful, strong, independent. That figure had bloody clothes, blood and soot on her hands and face, tangled hair and bags under her eyes. That figure had no idea what well-groomed meant anymore. That figure had lamely offered bruised and broken people do get themselves something to drink despite the fact that she had nothing but water.

First-aid kit. She should get her first-aid kit.

And she should go into the bathroom and hide like a proud coward when she stuffed herself with migraine medicine. Her head still hurt since her last vision, only she had been forced to ignore it for hours now – but that didn't mean that the pain had gone away. The opposite, actually. All she wanted to do was to take a hot shower, swallow her usual pills and go to bed in a quiet, dark room. Of course, she couldn't do that right now. None of them would be allowed a lot of rest – not today, and probably not in a long time.

An hour later the uncomfortable silence in the living room was interrupted by a knocking on the door. Cordelia got up slowly and opened the door, letting Giles, Anya and Xander in without a word. No one had said much at all the last hour. Willow had stayed completely silent, sitting completely still in her chair, only moving every time she bent forward to reach the glass of water she seemed to have sipped an endless amount of times. Gunn had silently cleaned his deep cuts and Spike had muttered something about wanting to get pissed.

"Take a seat, if you can find one," Cordelia offered as Anya helped a limping Xander to the couch. Cordelia noted that Giles had his arm in a plastered bandage, and that he looked pretty shocked.

"How did it... what happened?" she asked.

"Anya almost crashed Giles' car," Xander stated, and Anya rolled her eyes.

"Well, it took a while to figure out what the left pedal does," she explained. "It made us stop," she continued triumphantly.

"Really," Cordelia said dryly and Anya nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, and how lucky that I figured that one out just at the right moment. We almost hit a pedestrian, which I hear isn't a good thing."

"And you – didn't know this before? I'm pretty sure that somewhere in the driving manual it says you have to know what pedal makes you stop before you get your license…" Cordelia trailed off. It felt good to concentrate on Anya's driving instead of the subject they all knew would come up as soon as they ran out of other things to say.

"Guess we know what happened to her own car then," Spike commented. Anya shot him a dirty glare.

"At least Anya helped me make an important decision; I will never let any demons, or ex demons for that matter, drive my car again," Giles murmured. Anya sniffed.

"That's not fair! You even let _Spike_ drive your car once, and the way I heard it? Not much if it left after that," she argued.

"True. But that was my old car, which was worth about as much as one tire on the new one," he replied tiredly.

"Still not fair," Anya pouted, thus ending the discussion.

"So, what did the doctor say?" Cordelia asked after a moment of silence. Giles frowned.

"Well, he seemed somewhat shocked and actually rather fascinated by our, er, our tree story."

Cordelia raised her eyebrows. "Your – tree story?"

"Yes. You see, we were camping in the woods and a tree fell over us, thus causing this fracture in my arm and, uh, Xander's stab wound filled with wooden splinters. Luckily Anya wasn't hit, and therefore able to drive us to the emergency room." Gunn, Cordelia, Spike, Wesley and Willow stared silently at Giles. Well, he _had_ been knocked over the head.

"Don't look at me like that. It was the only thing I could come up with in such a short amount of time. It was either that or the much longer story that would have caused the oncoming of men in white robes... possibly a lobotomy. It seemed most sensible to go with… the tree story."

"Hmm. See your point." Cordelia looked towards the window. The sun shone behind the blinds and would so for many hours to come. Of course they wouldn't be able to spend the whole time resting even though they surely needed it very much. They had to decide what to do next.

Wesley looked at Giles and Xander and noted how their faces were almost as white as their bandages. Gunn claimed that he was fine, but he was moving stiffly and one look at Cordelia had told him just how bad they had done against Angelus. It was to be expected, of course. Angelus had always been cunning, among the absolute elite both physically and mentally, and now he had recently fed off a Slayer. He shook his head to himself. If only he hadn't taken Buffy away from the others that night… if only he hadn't failed and practically handed her over to Angelus.

If only he hadn't been so stupid.

Now they had lost Buffy again, and that was far from the worst at the moment. When Buffy rose, they would have to face perhaps the most vicious vampire couple in history. He closed his eyes for a second. They already knew what Angelus was capable of, and Buffy wouldn't be any better. She still had her Slayer powers, and she had learned from Angelus. He had read everything there was on Angelus and Darla and that had been horrifying – something told him that Angelus and Buffy would be even worse.

Perhaps the strongest Slayer in history turned vampire… working side by side with Angelus, infamous for his evil. He clenched his jaw. He realized that if every one of them actually came out of this alive, they wouldn't only be lucky – it wouldn't be anything short of a miracle. Wesley glanced at Cordelia and they exchanged a look. They both knew it – they all knew it. No matter how tired, depressed and hurting they were, they would have to talk about their next move. There was no time to lose.

"Guys," Cordelia began in a tired voice. "We have to talk about what we should do now."

"My suggestion – stake the bloody hell out of Angelus," Spike muttered. Cordelia looked at him and sighed.

"Thank you Spike, very constructive," she said. "I think that, among other things, was part of what we tried today. See where it got us."

"Giles said that Angelus probably turned Buffy again," Anya said. "Doesn't that mean that we will have two monsters to fight from now on?"

"Yeah," Cordelia answered simply. "It does." She stayed silent for a few seconds. Evil vampire Buffy. That was a new concept, and not one she yearned for experiencing. "Couldn't we just curse Angelus again?" she asked, looking at Willow.

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" Xander asked her bitterly. Cordelia furrowed her brow.

"Don't start with me," she bit off. "I know what you think about Angel, but see Xander, your opinion doesn't automatically mean that Angel deserves to die."

"Your precious Angel has managed to scamp that soul of his four times these last three years, killing God knows how many innocent people in the process. Do you really think he _deserves_ to live?" he retorted coldly.

"What Angel deserves can be debated," Wesley said calmly. "It is, however, not first priority right now."

"Oh yeah? Then what is?" Xander snapped.

"It's dealing with this situation as quickly and smoothly as possible. Going after Angelus when he has Buffy at his side with the agenda of killing him or both of them is suicide. People will die – odds are, we will die."

"I think it's worth the risk," Xander persisted. Wesley sighed.

"We could also arrange for a nuclear bomb to strike Los Angeles. Thousands would die, but who knows, perhaps we would get Angelus in the process."

"Now you're just being stupid," Xander replied.

"Wesley is right," Giles agreed, even though it was hard for him to form the words. "Returning Angel's soul as fast as possible is definitely the safest way to be rid of Angelus."

"Only thing is, we still don't have an orb of Thesulah," Willow reminded them.

"What about Buffy, can we curse her again?" Anya asked. "We only need that necklace-thingy for that, right?"

"And where is it?" Gunn asked.

"Last thing I know… Angel had it." Cordelia's word slapped everyone in the face. Back to square one.

"So not only will Buffy, sure to be as deadly as her sire, rise tonight, we won't be able to put her soul back?" Gunn shook his head. "Damn."

"So we're all more or less agreed that we have to try and play this safe and make it a salvage mission, rather than going back out there in a blaze of glory, trying to kill Angelus," Wesley said. "The question is, what should we do, and how? Safe to say it didn't go very well today."

"We could really use some help," Gunn said. "Some serious help."

Something dawned on Cordelia and she looked at them, a hint of new hope on her face. "Guys, I have an idea."


	34. THE PLOTTERS

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_A/N: Sorry 'bout the delay and all. I think every day should have more than 24 hours. But still, as of today I give you another two chapters, please let me know what you think._**  
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**CHAPTER 34: THE PLOTTERS**

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Lindsay walked down the corridor with light steps. Things had been going well lately – really well. Better than he had dared hoping a week ago. The plan had unfolded just the way he had hoped. When Angel met the resurrected Buffy, that pesky soul of his hadn't been very firmly attached anymore. They had followed his progress and knew that he currently had Buffy somewhere and that Angel's band of friends didn't know where to look.

The latest report revealed that Angelus had turned Buffy, just according to plan. How the field team had figured that out without getting killed themselves, Lindsay had no idea, and frankly he didn't care very much.

The Senior Partners had demanded Angel to be cut off and isolated from his friends and that he got the chance to embrace his – darker side. Once dark and isolated, they wanted to make sure that he wouldn't return to his buddies. Lindsay smiled to himself. Angel was definitely permanently dark. And all this they had accomplished without much effort at all. Granted, the Council had done a part of the work for them but either way, they had gotten what they wanted.

Of course, Lindsay wasn't stupid. He knew enough about Angelus to realize that when he was around, no one was safe. Sure, they had vampire detectors, armed guards and in theory the advantage of being the ones that Angelus had to thank for his recent liberation, but still. If the former champion of justice and his broad came knocking on the firm's door, it wouldn't be to deliver flowers.

But that didn't matter. Wolfram & Hart were all about sacrifice, more or less literal ones, and possibly death – all in the name of the mission. Lindsay's faith in it had wavered at one point, but he had made his decision. He had broken free, gotten to the door and found it to be open if he really wanted to leave… but at the end of the day, he didn't. At the moment he was happy where he was, and he knew that the firm wouldn't ever accept anyone doing a mediocre job. Actually, he wouldn't accept it from himself either.

That was the difference between him and Lilah. She was too concerned about herself – and that was why she wouldn't ever accomplish anything big at this place.

Lindsay opened the door to her office and walked inside, slamming the door shut behind him. Lilah looked up from her paperwork and shot him a dirty glare.

"Have you ever heard of the term called knocking?" she said dryly. He grinned at her and sat down on the edge of her desk.

"Well, that's rich, but we have staff for waxing the desks," Lilah continued. "Don't need you ass to do that. Actually, the only thing I need your ass for, it kicking it back out that door. What do you want, Lindsay?"

"Cheer up, Lilah," Lindsay said. "This isn't the time to be worried about petty details." Lilah frowned and stared at him like he had gone insane. Slowly her expression changed when she realized what he was hinting at.

"You're here to give me good news, aren't you," she noted.

"I am. It seems like what might very well be the most historic vampire couple of this century is about to enter into the game. Tonight, as the matter of fact." Lilah tilted her head.

"He turned her?"

"According to recent reports. Now we'll just have to wait and see how things unfold. Angelus is back, and he has us to thank for it."

"Hmm. Right." Lilah furrowed her brow. It all sounded good. It was what the Senior Partners wanted, which should mean that it was what she wanted, but still – unlike Lindsay she wasn't only viewing this as a long term project. She had read a lot about Angelus, and she knew what he had done to Holland Manners.

Angelus wouldn't be_ thankful_ towards them because they had worked towards his liberation. With any luck he would be too busy with his newly turned skank and the good-n-plenties trying to re-ensoul him to come to see them in the more… under-your-skin kind of way.

She wasn't stupid, and all disputes apart, but she knew that Lindsay wasn't either – but for some reason he didn't seem to think that he was in any personal danger. Or maybe it was as she had been told over the years – Lindsay had what it took to be among the real elite of Wolfram & Hart. His own life came in second while the mission was the most important thing. Lilah was too egoistic, she had been told. She sniffed to herself, watching a gleeful Lindsay jump up from her desk.

Well, maybe she was egoistic, but if it meant that Lindsay would end up in fifteen pieces, torn apart by Mr. Sunshine and his Wonder Girl while she stayed intact – she was fine with that. Poor bastard.

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* * *

- 

"You're saying… what now?"

Cordelia stared at the people facing her, observing how looks of shock, horror, irritation and bewilderment registered on their faces. Well, if those first reactions weren't telling her that her idea wasn't well liked, surely Giles' ridiculing "you're saying what" took care of that. They thought that she was far off, really far off. They didn't even have to say it for her to understand it.

And maybe, maybe they were right. Maybe she was. She definitely was among the last people that would willingly suggest this under any normal circumstances – but these weren't normal circumstances. If what she had just said would increase their chances of surviving at all, she was willing to go through with it. Only… she couldn't really do it all alone, which meant that she would have to convince everyone else that her idea wasn't a stupid, idiotic and possibly fatal one. All of which they seemed to think right now.

"I'm just saying that she could be of help," Cordelia continued in a short tone. She glanced at Wesley, who stared at his shoes – effectively avoiding looking straight at her.

"Faith, could be of _help_?" Xander asked, finally regaining his sense of speech. He furrowed his brow and shook his head. "Hello, my name is Xander; I come from the planet EARTH. How about you?"

"Don't be stupid, Xander," Cordelia retorted tiredly. "Faith has… she's changed." She frowned to herself. Well, she had changed enough to turn herself in to the police, accept her penalty and go to jail… where she, admittedly, had been for less than a year. It didn't say much about her current state of mind.

Angel had visited her a few times last fall, but that was a long time ago now. Who knew how she was today? As far as Cordelia knew she might very well be back to sending elbows and other various body parts into people's faces. If they got her out, which very well might be an impossible task in itself, they might have an even bigger problem than Angelus and evil-Buffy on their hands. Namely a psychotic Slayer teaming up with them. She shuddered at the thought of that trio.

What was to say that Faith wouldn't tire of her good-girl-act and join up with Angelus and Buffy instead of fighting them? Angel had assured them that she wouldn't change back – but then again, hadn't he also assured at some time or another that he wouldn't change back into his charming alter ego again? At this point, Cordelia wasn't giving much for his word.

"Faith. That's another Slayer chick, right?" Gunn asked. Cordelia nodded quietly and Xander snorted.

"Faith is the, how should I put this? _Evil _Slayer." Gunn frowned.

"She was, you mean," Cordelia threw back. "Just like you used to be a stupid, narrow minded idiot that… no, wait. That _hasn't _changed." Xander threw her an evil glare but didn't have time for a reply before Giles stepped in.

"Just hold on for a minute. Cordelia, surely you know as well as everybody else… even if Faith is willingly in prison right now, it doesn't by any means guarantee that she would help us with this. If we could even get her out."

"Yeah, you're right," Cordelia agreed. "But we have to try something."

"Okay, so, we all know the same version of Faith, right?" Willow looked at Cordelia. "'Cause… the last time we met her? She was all body-switching, creepifying, boyfriend stealing… not pleasant. And not helpful, might I add."

"Remember that bird," Spike mused to himself. "I like her."

"I know what you mean, believe me," Cordelia said. "I met her too, you know. But a lot changed after that. Angel helped her. Admittedly, she did try to kill him… and Wesley… and a few other people first… but what's important is that she _did_ change. Willingly."

"Right, so she found her God and became a sweet believer in redemption, heaven and all good things. She's born-again-girl," Xander cut in sarcastically. "Wanna know what I think? It's not worth _anything_. This is _Faith_ we're talking about here."

Cordelia shook her head and turned to Wesley, ignoring Xander. "What do you think?"

"I agree with you, on some level," Wesley said, and Cordelia could see how unwilling he was to utter those words. "Faith is our best bet, definitely… perhaps the only one with the right strength to have a fair chance by any rate against Angelus and Buffy. That does, however, depend upon her willingness to help us."

"Not to mention the fact that she is in jail, right?" Anya cut in. "How would we get her out anyway?"

"Let me get back to the part where Faith is criminally insane," Xander said. "I mean, seriously, people! Last time she didn't just try to kill Buffy. She took over her life in a very literal way. In my mind, being super-strong and super-crazy isn't a good combination."

"She's not like that anymore. But… she has it in her, and that's a good thing in this case." Cordelia frowned to herself. Okay. How did she come to _that_ conclusion?

Xander raised his eyebrows. "That is good? It's good. Please, tell me how it's a good thing."

"Because she can think like him," Wesley said softly, realizing what Cordelia meant. He looked at her, and she nodded. "Faith is the most similar to Angelus that we can find in a human being. She has his strength, his speed… and the ability to think in the same, twisted way."

"Exactly," Cordelia cut in. "To fight a Watcher torturer, you need a Watcher torturer. Kind of." Everyone looked at her, and she shrugged. "Well, it's true, isn't it."

"Faith is the perfect match to fight them," Wesley went on. "And whatever the Council thought about her… she is a Slayer. The Slayer, as the matter of fact." Wesley glanced at Giles who looked down, a depressed look crossing his face. It was true, but the fact that Faith was the only living Slayer didn't seem to have struck him until Wesley said it out loud.

Giles raised his gaze and looked at Wesley. "If you truly believe in this, then I'm… I have confidence in your judgment." He clenched his jaw, hoping that this confidence wouldn't prove to be a mistake.

"Thank you," Wesley replied sincerely, knowing very well that Giles would never have trusted him like this two years ago – and he shouldn't have either. He felt as if he had really earned this trust, and it felt remarkably good in the middle of all madness... despite the fact that his action – resurrecting Buffy, a brave soldier that had already fallen in the fight for the greater good and should have stayed dead – might possibly, in the long run, have brought on the end of the world. Wesley swallowed. Well, this wasn't the time to be negative.

"Good. Then that's settled," Cordelia said.

A beat of silence followed before she spoke again.

"So, the only little thing now… there is one tiny thing left, you know. Anyone got any ideas how we can spring a murderer from Northern California Women's Facility?"

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"The main entrance is here." Wesley pointed at the blueprints unfolded before him. "The visiting area is situated several stories up, but it should have a window facing here. The visitor parking is right below it."

Cordelia stared at Wesley. "Wait, no. Think. You're saying, what now? That we should jump out the window?"

"Well, we can't expect it to be open, so it's probably more like straight through the window," Wesley replied matter-of-factly. Cordelia gave him an evil look and he shrugged.

"Isn't there another way to get her out?" Cordelia asked. "Like, the exercise area maybe? Prisoners have those things, right? We can sneak her right out." Wesley shook his head.

"Too well guarded. They exercise several prisoners at a time and will have armed guards out there with them. Not to mention the small fact of the high, barbed fence that will surround that area. Faith will probably be able to climb out without too much effort, but not jump. She's no vampire, after all."

"Yet, at least," Xander muttered from his corner. Wesley shook his head.

"We will have no way of escaping like that. If she gets out straight into the parking lot, we can have the car waiting with the engine on and get away before the guards have time to follow us. Roughly I estimate that it will take a minute for the guards in the visiting area to alert their colleagues, and by that time we will be long gone."

"It all sounds good and well, Wesley," Giles said, "but what about after that? Faith is a murderer; they will hunt her down. Odds are we won't even get back to Los Angeles before they have caught us." Wesley nodded.

"That's why we need another vehicle. We can't risk them catching a description or plate number of your car, or Gunn's truck for that matter." Giles nodded.

"Alright, so what do you suggest? A rental?" Wesley gave him a knowing look, and Giles rolled his eyes. "Of course. Well, sure. If we're springing a murderer from prison, car theft really seems kind of petty in comparison, doesn't it?"

"That's a job for you, Spike, if you don't mind," Wesley said. "Via the sewer system you can get to several nearby parking garages."

Spike shrugged, making sure that his response wasn't too obliging or too quick, covering the fact that he would gladly help out if it meant that they could take on Angelus and win the next time. "Not like I have anywhere more important to be. I'll head out now, then. Any preference?"

"Something that will take us away from Stockton quickly and preferably something that can be driven through the woods. We can't risk driving a stolen vehicle back into the city." Spike disappeared out the door with his blanket wrapped around him and Xander shot Wesley a look.

"So what, you'll walk from the woods?"

"We'll meet up with the rest of you there," Wesley said. "I'm thinking that I should go with Cordelia to the prison. Willow, if you're up for it, we might need you." Willow looked surprised.

"Why? What can I do?"

"You can put up a force field behind us if the worst thing happens and the guards get on our tails quicker than expected." Willow nodded, pleased that she would finally get to participate.

"Okay. I mean, sure, I'll come with." Wesley nodded.

"Giles and Gunn, you will wait in your respective cars at the meeting place in the woods, if that's alright." Gunn nodded.

"I'm fine with that."

"And the rest of us, we'll stay here in the meantime, where it's safe and prison guards won't shoot us in the back," Anya said. "Right?" Wesley shook his head.

"No. We can't risk splitting the group at this point. It will be dark before we get back, which means that Buffy might… that she might… well, that it won't be safe at all here."

"But Angelus and Buffy are not invited here," Anya argued."What are they gonna do, taunt us from outside the door?"

"It's true that they're not invited, but that doesn't mean that they can't still do damage if they care to. Such as lighting the place on fire, forcing you to flee outside or getting burnt to death," Wesley said calmly. Anya swallowed.

"Ha. Well, okay. We'll join you on the unpleasant and dangerous road trip, then."

Wesley glanced at his watch. "I have some calls to make. We still have plenty of time, but this might take longer than we think. Anyhow, we can't do anything until Spike gets back. Feel free to take this rare opportunity to rest. It's going to be a long day... A really long day."


	35. SLAYERFEST 2001

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**CHAPTER 35: SLAYERFEST 2001**

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Faith walked up to the visiting booth, trying hard to see who it was before they could see her. When she had been told she had a visitor she had been more than a little surprised, seeing how Angel had been the only one that ever visited her - and she hadn't heard from him in ages. Still, if she would have to guess, she would have guessed for him. Who else would want to visit her, anyway? Buffy, her dead mother... or maybe Kenny the drummer would stop by for a quickie? Nah. All of the options above were equally unbelievable.

However, seeing how it was still a an hour or so left until the sun would start to set this sunny Californian day, how could it be Angel? Getting here without being deep fried would take time and effort, which must mean that he wasn't coming bearing good news. Or maybe Angel had received his… sho-ho… shanshu thing that he had told her about the last time he visited. She grinned a little to herself as she pictured a tanned and relaxed Angel in sunglasses and shorts instead of his usual tied up, covered up and pale exterior.

The person sitting on the other side of the glass was someone just a little less expected than her drunken, dead mother. She looked resolute, uncomfortable and tired where she sat and stared blankly ahead of her, clearly displaying that there weren't many places where she wouldn't rather be. Faith sniffed to herself. What the hell was Cordelia doing here? She picked up the phone and waited for Cordelia to do the same, eyeing her suspiciously and trying to push the vision of the last time she had met her out of her head. No good would come out of wallowing.

Cordelia stared at Faith. She looked… well, she looked different. Mostly because she wasn't wearing quite as much sluttish makeup as usual and was dressed in some sort of prisoner-blending-in-ish blue outfit which left a lot more to the imagination than her usual clothes. Also, she wasn't strutting around as usual, thinking that was the queen of the world… she was kind of slouching forward, a tired and glum expression on her face.

Cordelia felt discouraged for a second. Now, she had counted on the fact that talking the rest of the gang into this would be hard; she had counted on that springing Faith would be hard, and even taken the fact that she might not want to escape into consideration… but not for one second had she thought that just maybe the only current Slayer wouldn't be physically or mentally fit for taking on Angelus and vampire Buffy… that life in jail might have treated her bad enough to make her lose all of her spirit, not just the slutty, psychotic part.

She eyed the outfit again. Or maybe Faith was just having a bad-skanky-overalls-day.

She cleared her throat. Apparently Faith wouldn't begin this conversation.

"So, Faith. How are you?" Faith frowned.

"I'm… deeply unable to grasp why_ you_ would come here to see me and ask me how I am." Cordelia cocked one eyebrow and sniffed.

"Believe me, so am I." Faith looked down, and Cordelia regretted her words. Okay, stop, think. This wasn't about personal disputes, but about establishing some level of trust with Faith. To make her _want _to help them out.

"Okay, um, that was insensitive. Don't think I'm gonna apologize though, because you never have…" Cordelia bit her tongue. Ouch. Strike two. This was harder than she had thought.

"That's fine," Faith murmured, staring down at her hands.

"Yeah, five by five, right," Cordelia said nervously. "No, really this time. How've you been?"

"Well, if you must know. I get challenged a few dozen other girls on a daily basis, fight back when I have to, take beatings from the guards, eat crap food that would be refused by finer pigs, have just started murder-rehab where I get to learn interesting things like the definition of insanity and... I do it all with the knowledge that I will do this for at least another 25 years, and quite possibly considerably longer. Maybe my whole life. So what can I say? Redemption is really a walk in the park. So – how have you been yourself?"

"Believe it or not, but the world outside isn't all shiny and bright either," Cordelia deadpanned. Faith gave her a tired look.

"Please, is this the part where you tell me how hard it is when Angel demands you to answer the phone and file correctly, and how you don't get paid vacation three days a week? Or wait, I know. Some slimy demon stained your clothes, right?" Cordelia kept from sending her a snippy reply to that statement, knowing very well that it might have been true just a year ago.

"Actually, Angel hasn't demanded anything from me in a long time," she said calmly. "Not since he fired me, anyway." Cordelia could see that Faith was thrown, but she hid it well.

"He… What is this about, really? 'Cause, I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that you're not here only to tell me that you're out of employment. What's happened?"

"A lot." Cordelia shook her head and looked sadly at Faith who was becoming increasinly anxious.

"Drop the cryptic act, what is i?" she demanded, clutching the phone tighter and leaning closing towards the glass.

"Angel's gone, Faith. Angelus is back." Faith stared blankly at her for a few seconds that seemed like an hour, at least, before she shook her head in disbelief.

"You're not joking," she said. There were a few things that could never, ever, be joked about – and Angelus must be high on the list over those things. Cordelia shook her head.

"Really not."

"What… what about Buffy?" Faith felt sort of numb. She wasn't sure how to handle these news. Angel, the only person - who wasn't really even a person - that she could call a friend in this world was gone, and instead of him a psycho killer with megalomaniac tendencies and wishes for ending the world walked around wearing his body? And the fact that Cordelia had come to tell her this, what did that mean about Buffy?

Cordelia swallowed hard. "He killed her. We tried to stop it… but she's… she's dead." Well, for now, anyway, she added in thought. No need to load the mentally unstable Slayer with all the bad news at once.

Faith shook her head, and Cordelia could see how she was torn between continuing what she had promised herself that she would finish, and breaking that promise to be able to go on with what she had been destined to do.

Faith knew that if she broke out and escaped from prison now, that was it. The choice would be to live her life on the run – again, only worse since she was a convict now, and considered a public danger… it was that, or going back when she had done her job, back to a place where she would be treated just the way she deserved, like an unpredictable murdered with fugitive tendencies. Parole would be a joke for decades. Maybe she would spend all her time in isolation.

But if she didn't break out, what would that mean? Angelus on the loose and no Slayer there to stop him, quite possibly it might mean that there would be no world left for her to complete her righteous sentence of justice in. Cordelia, Wesley, everybody else, what would happen to them? Maybe they would all die. They probably would. Which option was worse, betraying society's rules or the birth calling that she had never taken seriously before?

She looked up at Cordelia, a dark shadow crossing over her face. She had made up her mind. The choice was made – maybe not the right one, but it didn't matter anymore.

"Back away from the glass."

-

* * *

- 

"Coming… it's coming. Soon."

Angelus looked up, sighed and glared at Drusilla, who was sitting on the floor, curled up with her knees under her chin, sobbing quietly. Something about her was bothering him. She was different, somehow, and it bothered him that he couldn't seem to figure out what it was. She was crying more than usual, and for being a soulless creature, she seemed very emotional. Of course, Drusilla wasn't quite like other vampires. He already knew that. The change in her behavior might have something to do with Buffy -- or she might have be in one of those fazes where she had a lot of visions. That had always made her restless and uncomfortable. Sometimes he had patiens with her, and sometimes he didn't. Tonight, he didn't.

If he hadn't been busy waiting for sundown, he might have found this to be the time for Drusilla to have a lecture in proper behavior, but he wasn't really up for it right now. Inflicting pain, whether it was on a human or a vampire, should never be rushed or done half-heartedly. Torture in every form was a type of art too fine to be carelessly done. And, he really liked seeing her in pain almost as much as he liked punishing her for showing it – if only she could be a little quiet.

He got up from his seat and approached her, watched as she trembled when he bent down over her. She wasn't really afraid of him. She had a chlilde's respect for him, but she didn't fear him anymore - that had ended when he liberated her from her human life. After he turned her, he couldn't do any more damage to her. Physical, sure, but only temporary. She whimpered when he grabbed her by the wrists and pulled her up, she shook her head and moaned.

"What the hell is it?" he hissed.

"You… you have no idea," she replied.

"Your power of deduction is excellent. That's why I'm asking. What is it?"

"The pain Daddy… all the pain. So much of it, and it, it won't stop." Angelus frowned and pressed her against the wall harder.

"Since when do you have something against pain?" She shook her head.

"No, no, not me… So much pain for you… for him… for her. Sizzling, burning, stabbing. 'Till there's nothing left." Angelus sighed and fought to keep his voice calm.

"Did you have a vision?" he asked as patiently as possible. She shook her head.

"He told me. He's telling me right now. He tells me... she will scatter what's left of our family. Scatter and break."

"Him? Who?" Drusilla stared at him and tried to wriggle free, but Angelus held her firmly and slammed her back against the wall.

"Him who?" he repeated angrily.

"Can't tell… but you'll see. In time." Angelus growled as he spun her around and pinned her to his chest, clutching her hard enough to bruise her. She gasped in pain and fear, and possibly exhilaration when he stroked her body softly, yet harshly and without any emotion. As always, she submitted to him and stayed still in his arms.

"Are you trying to hide something from me, Drusilla? Hmm, are you? Because, we both know how that usually ends, don't we?"

"Y-yes, yes," Drusilla sobbed as Angelus continued caressing, letting his hand move over her dark hair.

"Good." He grabbed her and yanked her head backwards and kissed her roughly, feeling the taste of her blood when he bit her tongue. Despite that she was so upset, and despite that he was hurting her badly the way he held her, she wanted nothing else than to please and obey him. The obedience was so deeply drummed into her, and over the years Angelus had taught her that his abuse was something that she should value, not pull away from. Drusilla tried to follow the pattern that usually always satisfied her sire, she nibbled at his throat with blunt teeth and tugged at his clothes - but tonight, he held her away. He had other things to do.

He could feel the sun setting. He couldn't see it, obviously, but he felt it. He could feel the presence of Buffy getting stronger by the minute – it was time soon. He released his grip on Drusilla and pushed her away roughly. Humbly, she went back to her corner and sat down silently. She usually knew what her sire wanted, and right now it wasn't the bodily pleasures that she could offer him as much as peace and quiet for the next few hours, until his new creation came to life. The calm before the storm.

It wouldn't be long now. Soon the world would face the delightful horror of a turned Slayer roaming free, washing away the bitter taste of all her good deeds the only way a vampire knew. Angelus smiled to himself. Soon. Very soon.

-

* * *

- 

Faith sat in silence in the black SUV and let her gaze flicker between Wesley, Cordelia and Willow, who was driving. Since when did Willow drive? Why did Wes look like someone had run him over with a truck? And whose car was it?

It was almost dark outside now, and they were driving on a small dirt-road somewhere around nowhere. Just to add to the strange, sinking feeling she had, it had started raining. She stared out the window for a second but couldn't see much of anything. At least no one was following them. Yet. She swallowed. It was, however, just a matter of time before they would track her down. She closed her eyes for a second and saw the scene before her again. She had tackled the two guards before they could get to their guns, and they hadn't moved when she and Cordelia had left. She had no idea how badly hurt they were. She just knew that someone, a woman, another visitor, had bent down over one of them and yelled something about an ambulance just before they left. But what did that mean, really.

They hadn't said much to her. 'They', being Wes, Cordelia and Willow. Cordelia sat next to her – or, about as far away from her as she could possibly be when they were in the same backseat, and Wesley was sitting in the front passenger seat. He had uttered something that she had interpreted as "hello Faith", but she wasn't sure.

While she couldn't see much of him from where she sat, the difference from when she had last met him, still less than a year ago, was really striking. His clothes and hair were different, the way he spoke was different… she couldn't help to think what had caused this drastic change. It was the same thing with Cordelia – she could see that even better as she had seen her in daylight… and the florescent light of the visiting area. She didn't look a year older, more like five years. She looked skinnier than before and she seemed tired. Had Angelus really caused all of this? It must have been a hectic year.

She kept thinking whether she should try to start up a conversation, break the ice. Maybe she could crack something like a chipper "are we there yet" – but the fact was, she didn't feel like it. Her old self would have said something, but this new version, call her penitent-con-Faith, she knew a little more about when it was most sensible to keep her mouth shut. This was definitely such a time.

Then again, if they were headed to Los Angeles, where they would probably arrive somewhere around noon tomorrow at this pace on this road, and she was expected to jump right out of the car and give Angelus a good spanking, she would need more details. Angelus gone and Buffy dead… that was not nearly enough. Just because she was a Slayer, it didn't mean that she could go into complicated battles without any information.

A Slayer. No, she wasn't a Slayer anymore. She was _the_ Slayer. She swallowed hard. It was a whole knew concept. Even before the badness and evil, it had always been Buffy, the vampire Slayer – and, oh yeah, this is Faith, she's a Slayer too. Now Buffy was dead. Finally snuffed out by the psycho version of her honey. It was something poetic about that. She shuddered. Something poetic, and incredibly disturbing. Buffy wasn't supposed to get beaten – she was the hero-type, weren't they meant to always come through and ride off into the sunset?

What was the difference this time? How had it happened, and when? How had Angel even lost his soul in the first place, and how had Buffy become involved? Last time she saw them, things hadn't exactly been chummy between them. And whatever had happened to Buffy's new boyfriend?

Just when she was about to open her mouth to say something, Willow murmured something to Wesley and stopped the car. So, they must be there now. Wherever that was.

"Come on," Cordelia muttered as she opened her door and slipped out of the car. Faith remained in her seat for a second, watching as Cordelia helped Wesley out of the car and how he tried to hide how his face crumbled in pain when he got to his feet. Willow turned around in her seat and gave Faith a quick look.

"Um – Faith? If you I get out, I can move the car." Faith frowned.

"Move the car?"

"Into the bushes. It being stolen and all, we don't want it to be found too easily." Faith nodded slowly.

"Um... right. Sure."

And so she got out, seeing yet another series of things she hadn't expected. Giles, behind the wheel of a red sports car. Another stolen car? Xander and his girl – Anya, huddled in the backseat. A black guy standing next to a truck, and Spike. Spike? Okay, so she knew this was a serious thing, but still she couldn't stop thinking that, any moment now someone would jump out and reveal that this was some kind of hidden camera show. Because this, this whole day… it was wicked crazy.

"I see the whole gang has gathered," Faith said stiffly, casting a glance at the black dude. "And some new faces."

"I can second that," Spike said, stepping forward. "So this is Faith. This happen to be the original body, or did a nice jail bird switch you one?"

Before Faith could answer Giles got out of his car and took a few steps towards her.

"Did everything go alright?" he asked Cordelia.

"According to plan," she nodded. "We got out… alright." She gave Faith a look, just a quick glance really, but Faith saw it, and she knew what it meant. It meant that, considering what she had done to the guards and how easily they had gotten out from what was to be a high security prison, they better stay on the better side of this chick, because she could kill them all if she wanted to.

Faith shoved her hands into the pockets of the prison uniform that made her feel even more like an outsider and stared at the muddy, wet ground. Sure, she _could_ kill them all. As in, had the strength and skill to. They were ordinary humans, plus one neutered vampire. She was the one girl, well, one of them, chosen in her generation to be able to save mankind from unspeakable evil. She was _supposed _to be stronger than all of them. The fact that they didn't trust her to use her powers for the right thing was... well, understandable. And her own fault.

She understood very well how Angel must feel, being surrounded daily with people that he had wronged. She knew exactly how those burning glances of distrust, blame and hesitance felt, and she knew just how it was to be the only one in a crowd that no one trusted. Only Angel had been doing this for so much longer, and he had hurt and killed more people than she could even comprehend. And still, he hadn't given up - he hadn't gone crazy, or killed himself, or lived out his eternal existence in a cave somewhere, cut off from every living being. He had kept trying, held himself together and become someone. With every passing minute she felt more and more respect for him, for who he had become. She clenched her jaw. A pity nothing of his good parts were left at the moment.

"Faith," Giles greeted without emotion. She narrowed her eyes. Actually, there was emotion, just not the good kind. He was nervous. Shifty. Kept avoiding to look her straight in the face, inching back and forth. Like she was gonna pull a knife on them any minute and start slashing.

"I hear you need my help," she said, straight down to business, realizing that trying to make any meaningless small talk wouldn't lead to anything good. They didn't trust her, simple as that. She could never convince them otherwise by gabbing, only her actions could prove anything.

"I'm afraid you hear that right," Giles confirmed. "However, since time is not exactly on our side tonight, we will have to fill you in on the way back to Los Angeles." Faith nodded. "Why don't you take a seat," Giles continued and got back into his car.

"In Gunn's truck," Xander suggested. "This vehicle is strictly a non-con zone." Giles shot him a stern look and he shrugged. Willow got in next to Xander and Anya and Gunn told Spike to ride with them.

"We won't all fit in here," he argued. "Unless you wanna ride in the back again." Spike snorted and got over to Giles' car, where Cordelia had scrounged in next to Willow.

"Good," Wesley said simply. "Will give us plenty of room. Come on, Faith." Faith felt a bit like a trained poodle when she followed Wesley without a word. She wondered for a second where she would have been today if she had obeyed him like this two years ago.

She waited at a good distance while Gunn helped Wesley to get into the car. She didn't say anything and she didn't offer a him a helping hand, because she what it would result in – Wesley flinching, because who wouldn't when someone who tortured you just a breakdown ago put their hands on you again, Faith feeling badly and a whole boatload of other negative emotions, followed by a long uncomfortable silence, resulting in her not getting any information from her former Watcher. She better just keep her distance. Finally Wes got in and she sat down next to him as close to the door as possible, practically pressing against it.

"This is Charles Gunn," Wesley introduced her after a minute of silence when Gunn started the truck and took point away from the meeting place.

"Two N's?" Faith said and Gunn nodded appreciatively.

"He's been working with is for some time now," Wesley went on. "And he has really been a great deal of help. Before... and after Angel fired us."

"I heard about that. What the hell have you been doing this last year, anyway?"

"Long story, I can assure you," Wesley said tiredly. "It begins with a demon called a Bucah and it includes death, resurrection, the end of the Council, a lot of horror… and a moment of perfect happiness."


	36. THE PRODIGAL SLAYER

_A/N: Well, howdy folks. It's been a while. I hope some of you still remember the story and want to keep reading it, because I have no intention of abandoning it, this winter has just been kind of crazy. No rest for the wicked fighters - and no time for the wicked fighters to write fanfiction... There are a lot of chapters left to be published, a lot of things left to say, so feel free to stay with me. I hope that I haven't completely lost touch with the characters and the writing after this little sabbatical - either way, don't forget to drop me a line my clicking that little review box at the bottom of the page. :-)_**  
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CHAPTER 36: THE PRODIGAL SLAYER**

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Angel had lost his soul. He had killed Buffy's mother, her sister, beefcake boyfriend, Willow's girlfriend… and then he had killed her. Turned her. She had gotten a soul. She had been killed by the Council. Angel had gone mad and set out on a killing spree, although a soulful one… and blown the Council headquarters to smithereens? They had resurrected Buffy. And Angel had lost his soul again, die to one of those pesky moments of true happiness, instantly catching on where he left of with Buffy by torturing her and turning her. Again. Oh, and there was a thing with a truck and a car that no longer existed, and how Wesley and Buffy had been in it when Angelus rammed them. Thus the bruised and limping Wes.

Unless she had been standing in Cordelia's living room with the somber faces of a bunch of people she thought she would never have to face again, she would have thought the whole thing to be a joke. Albeit a sick, twisted joke, but not anything resembling actual truth.

It wasn't like she hadn't known that the world had kept turning outside of her bars, but what the hell was this? Was there a single thing left that hadn't been turned completely around, wiped out – or killed – these last six months?

The Council was gone. What did that mean, no more Slayers? What did it mean for the current Slayers – correction, Slayer; as in her? Was she free, no more Chosen one? Well, she still had her powers. And that was the reason to why she had been sprung out of prison. Faith felt like pinching herself in the arm. She wasn't a person that got shocked or stunned easily, but this hour long recap of death and resurrection and more death… it had done the trick.

"What are you… what are you planning to do, with them?" She crossed her arms, moving uncomfortably in the clothes Cordelia reluctantly had given her. And Faith had reluctantly accepted, for that matter. She figured that prancing around on the streets wearing a jail uniform might attract some unwanted attention.

"To do?" Giles asked tiredly, as if the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. Faith smothered a sigh. Had they expected her to just jump into action and take command? She had no idea what place she was considered to have in this group, the only thing she knew was that she had never been a good team player, had never practiced any form of leadership, and a few of the people in this room that she was supposed to command – or possibly obey? – looked at her as if she was worth less than the mud under their shoes. Well, she hadn't asked to be dragged into this. They would just have to help her out here.

"What I mean is… assuming that we can beat them… what do you want to do with them? Re-ensoul, stake their asses, set them on a midnight train to Georgia? Or what?" Faith looked at them for response.

'Kill Angel'? If they told her to kill Angel, would she be prepared to do it? She had no qualms about killing Angelus, obviously, but being two parts of the same person… vamperson, or whatever, it made things a little fuzzy around the edges.

He had saved her life, literally and figuratively speaking, despite the fact that she had been an ass to him just as much as to everyone else, not to mention that she had tried to kill him on more than one occasion. Didn't that mean anything? Like, say for instance, that she owed him the same chance, the same kind of help?

"Re-ensouling Angel is simple in theory," Wesley provided. "A little harder when it comes to actually making it happen, since the key ingredient seems to be hard to come by these days." Faith stared at him, none the wiser, and he went on. "An orb of Thesulah. Spiritual vault for rituals of the undead. If we can just find one, his soul can be restored in half an hour."

Faith nodded. An orb-thing. That sounded like it could be done, at least. "What about B?" She refrained from suggesting that they could put back her soul first. If it had been that easy, she wouldn't be here. _She_ would be here instead, doing her usual hero-thing; stop the apocalypse, save the day; hand out cotton candy at the local kindergarten, and go home to the family. Wait a minute, scratch the last part…

"The first time, Buffy's soul was restored with something called the amulet of Thesulah," Wesley explained. Faith nodded slowly.

"So the Thesulans made a whole collection, I guess."

"One might say," Wesley agreed. "However, since Angel had the amulet last thing we know, it would be somewhat naive to assume it to still be available."

"In other words, we're screwed," Faith stated. Wesley shrugged lightly, watching how Giles massaged his temples with his fingertips, how Xander bit his lip and turned a pale tone of ash gray and how Willow looked away, frowning unhappily.

Of course this was hard for them to hear. They already knew it, but Faith had a way of boiling down a complicated fact into its very simplest, purest form. Only, she was actually right. As it seemed right now, they _were_ screwed, in the sense of saving Buffy at least. The only known way to give Buffy her soul back was lost, gone, no getting it back. Not without a miracle, anyway, and how often did one of those happen by?

Wesley silently wondered how Angel, _if _they could get a hold of another orb and re-curse him, would react if they had to kill Buffy. If _he _had to kill her, even. Again. If it was even worth doing. Maybe it would be better if they took both of them out straight away, no questions asked and no doubt. For the good of everyone, including the human souls belonging to both Angel and Buffy.

Wesley shook his head do himself. It all seemed… so hopeless. He knew that he had been one to campaign for the impossibility of trying to kill them both just yesterday and he realized that he had probably been right when he said that… and certainly he didn't want either of them to be killed. But over the years he had made a lot of hard decisions he didn't want to – it was, after all, a part of life. And difficult times calls for desperate measures.

"Oh, come on, people," Anya said, getting up from her seat. "It's important to stay positive in a crisis. Let's not use negative phrases like 'we're screwed', 'this is impossible', and doom, doom, doom and all hell raining down over us. We have a Slayer now, right?" She motioned towards Faith. "What's stopping us from going out there and kicking a little vampire ass?"

"My girl," Xander said with a wry smile. "She's right." He looked at Cordelia and Wesley. "You two campaigned for this idea. So what do we do next?"

"Buffy can rise at any time tonight," Wesley said. "And when that's happened, I guess we can assume…"

"We can't _assume_ anything," Faith cut in, looking down for a second and then up at Wesley again. She couldn't afford to feel guilty every time she spoke to him. They hadn't brought her here for that, but for her to be of help.

"You'll assume what seems like the Angelus thing to do... and that's what he wants. We'll have to go after them as soon as possible, before they have time to organize."

Faith bit her lip and thought about it. They didn't have much time. Buffy would be weak until she had time to feed, but after that? A Slayer turned into a vampire. Faith pondered that thought. She wondered if such a thing had ever happened before. Probably not, Giles or Wes would have researched it and spilled her all the more or less boring facts already.

But even though she had rarely… or never, opened up any books to research her heritage and the Slayers before her, she wasn't stupid. Any idiot could see that Buffy and Angelus were opponents of the highest class. They would have to move fast, yet plan their moves really well. If they let the two of them get upper hand for even a second, they would never win.

Besides, every minute she spent outside was a minute's risk of the police catching a glimpse at her – or a vampire recognizing her. And she knew that the minute the words spread of the Slayer's arrival, it wouldn't take long before he knew. And he would want to do something about it… to welcome her into the game.

She felt a pang of nausea and disgust for herself. She knew this because she had acted just like him last year. She hadn't known that Angel was in LA when she came here, but as soon as she learned it, as soon as Wolfram & Hart had offered her the job to take him out, she had caught on. And it hadn't been because of the money, but because she wanted to hurt him. Just like he would want to hurt her. Albeit, she was no Buffy, not the girl of his dreams that made his dead heart sing, but at least she was a friend. And that would be enough for Angelus.

"Willow," Faith said, and the read headed witch practically jumped in her seat. "You still do spells and stuff, right?"

"Stuff… I do stuff. And spells, right." Willow nodded.

"I want you to stay behind and secure this place."

Willow frowned. "Well, they can't come in if that's what you mean."

"Yeah, but there must be something else you can do to make it harder for them if they decide to hang around, right?" Willow frowned to herself and nodded. Yeah, a few more things could be done to up the security.

"Xander, Anya, Cordelia and Wes can stay here and help you. The rest of you are coming with me." Faith paused for a second, once again feeling like pinching herself, and hopefully waking up back in her bunk, finding that this was all some weird dream. But she didn't. And it wasn't. She was really standing here, in Cordelia's place, ordering the Scoobies and Team Angel around. Just like B would have, and just like an earlier version of herself would have mocked her for doing. Well, well. That, if anything, was poetic justice.

"Yeah?" Spike got up and approached Faith, arms crossed over his chest. "The hell where, and the hell why should I follow your orders?"

Faith studied the vampire. This was what William the Bloody had been reduced to. Well, she had to give Buffy that. Even if she was a disaster with the man-meat most of the times, she had the ability to spin the heads of the wicked. She had felt his… what was it, lust, passion? Love? Nah, he wasn't capable of that. Anyway, she had felt it even last year, when she was in Buffy's body, but this was stronger than some kind of animal attraction. He wasn't doing this because of his chip or because Giles had turned into a drill team sergeant and told him to. He was here willingly, for _her_. Interesting.

"Because I told you to, didn't I," Faith sneered, taking a step closer to Spike. "Either you follow my lead, Chippendale, or I take you out of my way. And, because if you don't, I might make good on my promise from last year. You remember what that was about?"

"Nah," Spike sniffed, a little too quickly. "Something about rolling eyes and… champagne, right." Faith smirked slightly.

"Right. Now on your feet, people. Time to get busy."

* * *

When the high-pitched sound reached her heightened senses it was as if an electric shock had gone through her system. It was as if the noise woke up every inch of her body, connecting her to all those who had come before her in the line, to everything they were and everything they had done. 

Okay, that sounded really scary-movie-cheesy. Like something the Master would say, kind of. But still.

The sound… it was a scream. A desperate scream of mortal, genuine fear. Somewhere in her mind she saw a girl. She saw the back of her, long, blonde hair and strong hands holding her in position while her life was drained from her.

It was Dawn… delightfully departed sister. Was this a dream? No. It was the past, a version of it at least, and it was beautiful. She could smell the girl, she could smell him, and it was as if she could even hear how his hard grip around her arms and neck slowly crushed and teared the layers of tissue under his hands and fingers. The sound of her blood flowing was throbbing in her ears and the fading heartbeat was as a loud drum.

When the girl turned around, her eyes empty and glazed over, her skin ever so pale and a fragrance of hot, flowing blood coming off of her, she wore Buffy's face. She screaming continued even though she… Dawn… Buffy… the girl had closed her mouth, and it didn't stop until she had fallen to the ground with a thud, face down in the grass. She knew this place. It had an unbelievable view over Sunnydale… and she had been there before. Around Christmas time.

Buffy flinched. She opened her eyes and bolted upright. She let her gaze roam the dark room, trying to take in all the new impressions. The smell of old, burnt wood, the quick adjustment to the thick darkness in the room, the scent of dried blood – some of it hers, some of it not… all of her new senses reacted instantly, she swung her legs over the edge and put her feet on the floor, prepared to get up in her bewilderment when she spotted him.

She froze as she her excellent night vision made out the outlines of his face and arms where he was sitting in an armchair, relaxed yet concentrated and on the alert – watching her. Watching her… struggle to life... his newborn creation. Or newly dead creation, to be literal. She was breathing hard, gasping to fill her lungs with air even though she didn't need to anymore, and she tried to focus on him even though all the sounds, all the scents in the collapsed building were practically driving her out of her mind.

He reached out a hand and let it trace over her chin, stopping when it almost cupped her cheek. His touch was soft, but his eyes were feral, his gaze hungrily taking in the sight and smell of her new self. When he moved his hand she stopped him, grabbed his wrist in an iron hard grip and held it there, looking him deeply in the eyes – deeper than she had ever looked in Angelus' eyes before. Before, she had avoided it because she knew that what she saw would frighten her. Now, she enjoyed the view.

After a second, she released her grip and smirked at him. She leaned forward, grabbed him hard, pulled him tightly and kissed him – not as Buffy would have kissed Angel, softly and tenderly, put hard and passionate, hungrily and aggressively. After a kiss lasting long enough to take the breath out of any breathing man, she let him go and leapt up from the couch.

Angelus got up after her, watching her every move closely as if examining and evaluating his work. Or, maybe he was just checking out her ass. Buffy snorted to herself. He was a guy after all, albeit a dead one, and it wasn't as if her ass wasn't fine enough to look at.

"How are we feeling, Buff?" She turned towards him and moaned, pouting petulantly, grabbing his shirt collar and pressing herself against him.

"I've been better. I'm hungry and dressed in rags that Cordelia probably picked from her charity bag. I feel like…" She looked disgusted. "I feel like a human."

"Well, you certainly are not." Buffy smirked at that, but the smile faded when she looked towards Drusilla who was doing laps around a broken chair, moaning quietly as if mourning the wrecked furniture.

"What's her deal?" Buffy snorted, letting go of Angelus and approaching Dru. "Hey, Rag 'n Bones." Drusilla stopped for a moment and stared at Buffy. "Yeah, I'm talking you. Here, kitty, kitty…"

"It's all out of line, out of place, out of mind," Drusilla murmured, shaking her head. "Won't go well, no, no."

"Aw, poor little thing…" Buffy smiled a false, pitiful smile and stopped very closely to Drusilla. "Hey, look at me when I'm patronizing you," she demanded, and Drusilla growled when she met Buffy's gaze.

"You know," Buffy said. "There's one thing I've always wanted to do."

Drusilla stared at her with big, brown eyes, somehow looking more like an innocent child than the more than century old, evil, soulless demon that she was.

"What's that then, little sister?" she asked.

"Oh, it goes something like this." Buffy grabbed Drusilla by the wrists, spun her around and sent her against the wall hard. She forced her hands open and broke one of her nails. Drusilla squealed and Angelus took a step forward, frowning slightly. Buffy laughed and rejoiced when she smelled the blood from her fingertip. Buffy turned her head and glared at Angelus.

"Don't be like that," she said, pouting. "You're not the only one that gets to toy around with this little tramp." Angelus seemed satisfied with that answer and stood back, watching.

Buffy slowly broke each and one of all Drusilla's carefully painted, long and hard nails. Drusilla whined, sobbed, cried and called out to Daddy, but no one came to her aid. When she was done, Buffy smacked her head into the wall and released her, standing back. Drusilla instantly spun around and lashed out with her broken nails before she realized that it was no use. Her face crumbled and she collapsed to the floor, crying silently. Buffy giggled, skipped happily back to Angelus, grabbed him by his collar and kissed him again.

"You know, I've never told you how good you look in those pants," she said huskily. "Although, I would prefer you out of them instead."

"This is wrong. It's all wrong!" Drusilla shouted and Buffy sighed deeply, shaking her head and reluctantly turning back to Drusilla.

"Can't you _ever_ shut up? What's with you, can't you go play by yourself… or with yourself like a good girl? I would invite you to join us, but see, I don't do well with share-time. Not in any way. Definitely not with _you_."

"It's not supposed to be like this," Drusilla said, mostly to herself. "He said so. Mummy shouldn't be like this."

"Then how is it supposed to be, huh?" Buffy took a step forward. "What did you think; that I would help you arrange tea parties? Comb your dolls' hair? Get real. I'm not your _Mummy_ and I'm not your little sister… I'm just the bitch that's kicking your ass out of the birds' nest. So why don't you dash along, pea-brain. Take a hike."

Drusilla looked sadly at Angelus who shrugged, smirking slightly, seemingly impressed by Buffy's instant dominance. "You heard her, Dru. I really think that in this case… three is a crowd. I'm sure there's something else for you to do. Some_where_ else."

Drusilla stayed silent when she got up from the floor and slowly made her way into the sewer system without looking back. Buffy turned her attention back to Angelus. She looked him hungrily in the eyes and growled from the back of her throat.

"I'm hungry," she declared. He nodded.

"Come. You need to feed to keep your strength up."

"And we _have_ to get me better clothes," Buffy demanded, sniffing on a sleeve of the bloody, dirty rag she wore and grimacing. It reeked of dirt, and sweat, and Cordelia… Cordelia. The others. Surely they would come after them, stake's a blazing. Oh, what they would do to them. She breathed in an unnecessary breath and wrinkled her nose.

"Also, we have to relocate," she noted. "This place reeks of burnt wood... and rats." She let her gaze roam across the room, observing all the pieces of broken, pointy wood. It wasn't as if she was afraid of Angel Ink and co or anything. But that didn't mean that she wanted to give them this much of an advantage. It would be as stupid as fighting them on a bridge made of stakes, hanging over a pool of holy water. Idiotic, not exciting.

"As far as I know, the hotel is still standing where I left it," Angelus said. Buffy nodded.

"It'll do for now. Now come on. We have places to go. People to eat."


	37. TAKE A BIGGER WHIFF

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* * *

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**CHAPTER 37: TAKE A BIGGER WHIFF**

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* * *

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"Can you hear somethi…?"

"Shh."

Faith took two careful steps forward and listened hard. No sounds were coming from behind the door, the very same door Angel had swung open once upon a time, telling her that while she wasn't exactly free, the door was open. And now she was back here, wondering what would prove to be behind it when they opened it and stepped inside. She couldn't hear a thing, and her weird tingly-sense hadn't gone off. Odds were, no vamps were lurking behind that door. Then again, she hadn't done this stuff in a long time. A very long time. She wasn't sure that her senses could be trusted. And if that was true, she may very well be leading these people into a deathtrap.

Kind of like old times, then.

"Oh, come on, let's get on with it. Knowing Angelus, they're probably long gone by now. Town being a… bloody poultry farm."

Faith quirked a brow, turning to Spike. "Is that…bloodthirsty jealousy I hear in your voice?"

"Takes one to know one, eh?" Spike retorted, brushing past Faith and pushing the door aside, stepping inside the burnt out, cave-like place that used to be Angel's living room. He threw his arms in the air for emphasis and let his gaze sweep over the burned walls, scattered pieces of wood and the bloody furniture.

"See, Slayer? Foxes are gone. Out there, people are running around like tasty, cackling chicken. Best get out there right quick, eh?"

Faith inhaled a deep breath and considered what to say. If circumstances had been different, this would have been the time and place for a sassy comment about Spike's involvement… his concern even, for Buffy and what she might do. But this wasn't the time. Somewhere out there, in the dark, in a city of millions, were two vampires that she honestly didn't know if she could even find, let alone beat. If Buffy and Angelus didn't want to be found, they wouldn't be. They knew they had that advantage. The only thing they didn't know, probably, was that she was there. Not yet, anyway.

"We'll have to start right away if we wanna have any chance of finding them tonight," she said finally, biting back everything that she wanted to say and mentally kicking herself for how lame she sounded. She was starting to sound like… like Buffy. Only she wasn't, she was merely a really poor substitute for her.

Faith gave Giles a quick look, but he didn't look back at her. His head was turned in her direction but his gaze was unfocused, glazed over… the man was deep in thought. Probably despair, grief and weariness, too. And she had the uncomfortable feeling that she wasn't making things better at all. She had never been the commanding type, not really. It wasn't in her to flip her stake, pun and joke to make everybody feel better and then take point, leading her well-oiled group into a fight that possibly meant ugly, horrible death for each and everyone who joined in – and still make it seem easy and jolly in some twisted way.

"How does Her Majesty suggest we start?" Spike spat at her, as if his rudeness would cover the fact that he actually wanted to participate, somehow, but didn't know how.

"By tracking them," Faith replied tonelessly. Wasn't it obvious? Faith suddenly felt that maybe they would do this better without her. Everyone would be forced out of their strangely-awake-zombie-coma-states, forced to use their brains and brawns to beat the bad guys. With her here, instead they seemed to just give up, let her take the reins. She glanced at Gunn. At least he seemed to be on the alert. He was the one with the least personal connections especially to Buffy. Hopefully he would be able to see things clearly when it came to fighting her and Angelus.

"I don't see no trails here," Gunn said, looking around the dark room.

"Well, they gotta be here," Faith argued, sighing, giving in. She was here, no matter what she thought about it. She couldn't just give up now. "Everything leaves a trail. Even Angelus."

* * *

The couple stood in the darkest spot in the alley, oblivious to the world around them and practically invisible to a human eye. The short, blonde girl couldn't be older than 17 or 18 and her taller, masculine boyfriend held his arms around her protectively, although completely unaware that they were being watched from on high… so to speak. 

"Can I have them?" The voice was juvenile, sort of curiously immature.

"Of course. You can take what you want, have what you want. There is no belonging or deserving anymore… just you. In this world, you decide."

"I think I like this world," Buffy giggled, motioning for Angelus to follow her. She jumped down off the rooftop and landed with a soft thud on a dumpster with Angelus close behind. The sounds made the couple flinch but not turn around. Clearly, doing what they were doing they weren't easily distracted – and after all, this was Los Angeles. It was never completely silent in the city.

Buffy tiptoed up to the couple, tapped the young man on the shoulder and grinned as her face switched in to her demonic visage. She grabbed the guy roughly before he had time to react, threw him into the brick wall and bit down hungrily, eagerly on the side of his neck. Angelus remained a few feet away, watching and rejoicing. The girl stared at Buffy in utter shock, for a second unable to move, scream or take any other action that might have seemed fitting in the situation.

Then, she snapped out of it. She let out a high-pitched scream, and she ran. Correction, she tried to run. Her escape was stopped short when Angelus took a quick step to the side, blocking her exit and causing her to bump right into him, the impact hard enough to daze her, but not enough to lose her breath, unfortunately. She screamed again, and Angelus grabbed her by the neck, grimacing at the sound, and smacked her into the wall, noting the telling crack from her scull before he bit and drained her. Unsatisfied, he let her dead body slump to the ground.

"What's the matter?" Buffy pouted. "Icky one?" Angelus snorted, glaring at her.

"This is too simple. Like shooting fish in a barrel."

"Well, yeah… But it's fun. Funny fishy-shooting, right?" Buffy smiled childishly, took a few steps forward and put her arms over Angelus' shoulders, looking him deeply in the eyes. He stared back without changing expression.

"It's a waste of time," he said coldly, pushing her off. "Any animal is capable of mere killing. It's the artistry of it that puts us on the top of the food-chain, above _them_." Buffy cocked her head.

"Oh, come on. Not every kill has to be a slow one. I just need some release, but don't worry. We'll have fun your way, too. The troops will come a running soon, they're bound to. And when they do… I'll show them that I've learned from the mast-..."

"Police, nobody move!" Angelus and Buffy froze, and a chilling smile spread across Angelus' face when he recognized the voice coming from behind him. It had been a while. He turned around slowly, letting the smile melt away. He looked at her and could barely contain a fit of laughter when he saw how she shifted in her stance, how she smelled of cold, fear induced sweat and how her hands, holding a gun pointed at his heart, started to shake when she met his gaze.

"Katie. This is a nice surprise," he said calmly, not taking his eyes off of her for even a second. She looked from him, to Buffy, to the two people lying on the ground, and back to him. Angelus could see the uncertainty in her eyes, how an inner battle in her head raged on. She knew what she saw, but she didn't understand it. No matter what she thought of him, how much hate there had been in her words when she spat at him outside his apartment building last year, she wasn't instantly coming to the conclusion that the good-guy vampire had been the one to kill these innocent people. That was good. It gave him the opportunity to twist her mind, spin her head real good – figuratively speaking, of course, before they moved on to the next phase. The hands-on-phase, that was.

Angelus started walking towards Kate, carefully making sure that the steps were shuffling, as if he had dead pigs tied to his ankles – which would be his ensouled counterpart's idea of a pocket flask – he shoved his hands in his pockets, lowered his head and pulled his shoulders up slightly, putting on a face he hoped was as full of… well, whatever Angel's face usually was full of. Some kind of dulled pain, endured mental anguish or whatnot, not to mention a deep seated lack of anything approaching humor… Nah, he couldn't replicate that even if he wanted to try. Instead he just imagined… pig's blood. Vast oceans of pig's blood. Now _that_ was a depressing subject. One he knew way more about than he would ever want to.

"Not another step, Angel," Kate hissed. "Stop it right there. Backup's on the way, and there's no way you're gonna smooth talk your way out of this one." Kate took a deep breath for courage and moved her gun for emphasis. Actually, backup wasn't on the way. No one knew that she was here, and she hadn't really planned on telling anyone either. Really, what would she say? Angel wasn't in the system. Officially, as far as she knew, he didn't even exist. No social security number, no tax payer ID – not even a last name. She didn't have any evidence that this nonexistent man, or creature was actually involved in the murder of a truck driver last week, all she had was a hunch. She was off-duty and, professionally, she had no reason to go out on the streets and go after him.

"Kate, what? What are you talking about?" Angelus asked innocently, though suspecting that he wasn't able to fool the lady cop, at least not completely. "You think that _I_ would… Hm. Does that mean that, if I tell you that I need to go stop the creature that did this, or he will kill more people, you won't… believe me?" He wrinkled his brow and let his lip tremble slightly. He crept closer to her, holding back the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Kate, that's… I mean, I'm… Well, you know, you sure seemed to buy it the first time around," he said, staring at her with such intensity that she felt uncomfortable and shifted her weight back and forward between her feet.

"Back off," she hissed and held the gun at his throat. "I will fire." Angel chuckled.

"Katie, Katie… That won't kill me. I'm willing to bet you that I'm able to break your arm, grab the gun and snap your neck, in half the time I'll take you to put some pressure on that trigger. What do you think?"

Kate simply shook her head snorting in disbelief. "What the hell are you doing? What is this, back to living large off of humans again?"

"Well." Angelus paced the alley in front of Kate. "You know how the evil parts of life… excuse me, death, always was up my alley." He stopped in front of her. "You read about my deeds back in the day, didn't you?"

Kate snorted. "What's wrong with you?"

"Wrong? Nothing. Uh-uh. In fact, I can guarantee you that I have never been more myself, than right now."

"Really."

"Mm-hmm." Angelus walked up as close to her as he could get. Her gun touched his chest, but he wasn't worried. He was pretty sure that he'd be able to catch her or move out of the way before she had time to push the trigger if she decided to.

"I have a question for you. Now, it's not a secret that you've always judged me because of what I am…" Angelus said in his best Angel-voice. "I wonder… when you found me next to your dead father… did you ever stop to think about who his killer really was?" He smiled cruelly. "Me, vampire, he, vampire victim – come on, you must have thought about it! Maybe you didn't kill his murderer at all. Maybe justice wasn't done. Did you ever think about that, Katie, hm?"

He heard how her breathing became more rapid, saw how her face got darker when blood rushed up to her head, heard how her heartbeat sped up. She was afraid, confused, shocked – not to mention royally pissed off. All of this he could accomplish with mere words. Humans. So feeble minded. In less than two minutes he had managed to break her down _and_ blacken the soul's character. Two birds. One stone.

"What is this? What are you saying?" Kate asked in a low voice, shaking her head.

"I'm just telling you the truth, Kate," Angelus said, dead serious, nodding and letting out a small sigh, as if he was relieved to finally let her know the truth. "The last time we met you asked me who I thought I was. Well, this is who I am. I know you read everything about me in those books. I know you believed everything in them. And I can guarantee you that everything is true." He was smirking now. "Now, think about it, what do you think someone like _me_… would do to your precious daddy?"

Buffy strolled up to Angelus, tipping her head and studying Kate.

"Isn't this the brave little leper that tried to stick you in a deep-fryer jail cell one time?" she asked thoughtfully. "Yeah, I remember you." She stared at Kate. "Real useful member of society, aren't you? A true working gal." Kate furrowed her brow, staring at Buffy in disbelief.

"Yeah, I've always had my suspicions about her," Angelus chuckled.

"Hmm," Buffy went on. "I don't like you. _I'm_ the only one that gets to kill him," she said, letting the corner of her mouth curl into a smirk as she stroke Angelus' neck. Kate looked more and more confused and stood frozen in her tracks. If she had taken some kind of action, she might have been able to save herself. A few well placed bullets might have slowed down Angelus and Buffy at least enough for her to make it back out in the streets, where she could take cover or run for her car. But she didn't do anything.

"What are you so afraid of, Katie?" Angelus asked with a chuckle. "Is it this?" He morphed into his vampiric visage. "Is it the part where I kill you? 'Cause I gotta tell you, I love that in a woman!"

Kate fired her gun twice, but both targets were out of her line of fire in an instant. She turned towards Angelus and raised her gun again, he reached forward to grab her arm and she fired. He didn't even wince when she hit him in the shoulder, instead he ripped the gun out of her hand, pushed her backwards, sending her into the brick wall and sinking to the ground, and pointed it towards her.

"Heheh, vampire with a gun," he quipped. "Can see why you like this thing." She saw his forefinger touch the trigger and she closed her eyes before she heard the shot… and then she opened them again.

"Children's toys," he muttered, throwing the weapon aside. "At the end of the day, I much prefer it the old fashioned way." He looked at Buffy and she looked back at him, her face switching. Grabbing the defenseless woman, they bit down on each side of her neck.

* * *

Spike froze dead in his tracks when he heard the sharp sound. One, two… three shots. There was silence… and then another shot. They were still far away, but he could hear the sound clearly. 

"Hold on," he murmured when Faith, Gunn and Giles continued down the street, unsure what they were looking for. Faith was a Slayer, she had all the necessary tracking skills, but her senses still weren't near the ones of a vampire. She didn't hear as well as he did, and she certainly didn't have his sense of smell.

The three of them stopped and turned to him, and Faith looked at him with her brow furrowed. She wasn't sure if she could trust him. Okay, actually, she was pretty sure that she _couldn't_ trust him, him being soulless and all, but she wasn't sure if she could trust that he knew what he was doing right now. They seemed to have wandered the streets for hours and hours now, and so far nothing even remotely encouraging had crossed their paths.

"This way," Spike said shortly, turning left.

"Are you certain?" Giles asked, giving the vampire a tired look. Spike glared at him for a second, watched how the former librarian's pasty face took on a funny shade of green in the dull street light. He silently wondered if, or rather when, the old man would simply topple over and how he could make the others look the other way while he… took advantage of the situation. He gave his stomach a quick pat when he heard it rumble.

"You wanna take over the sniffin', pinhead?" Spike menaced, or tried to menace, and Giles stared indifferently at the vampire.

"Spike, you'd better be on to something this time," Gunn stated with a sigh.

"Stop your yammering and follow me, then," he muttered and took off down the smaller street to the left. He inhaled deeply and felt the skin on his arms tingle… somewhere, far away, he could smell blood. Lots of it, fresh and warm. The metallic, full and rich fragrance soon filled his head, consumed his mind and made him see beautiful, vivid imagery of violence and bloodshed.

He stopped again, lifted his head and sniffed audibly a few times. He heard the others stop behind him. He could hear their heartbeats, steady and strong and so loud and rumbling that he was sure that the ground under him was quivering. He clenched his fists when he felt the demonic features forming on his face, bit them back. This was what he was reduced to. Some tethered lapdog. He knew that if he turned and looked at them now, his starving mind would make him see his imaginations on them. And that wouldn't result in anything other than a throbbing headache. Instead he took a deep breath, let his nostrils flare, and took of sprinting down the street.

"Hey, Spike!" he heard Gunn's voice behind him, followed by the sound of quickening footsteps when they followed him. Not even Faith was quite able to keep up with his pace. The smell was becoming stronger and stronger until he reached its peak and he was sure that he could in fact taste it in his mouth, feel the warm, salty and sweet stickiness in his throat and…

He stopped so suddenly that Faith almost ran right into him. He panted, unnecessarily, as a way to hide his exhilaration about the blood. Not that he cared if the monkeybrain's were disgusted or angry with him because of it, but because he knew that if Faith were to hit him, he would hit her back… sending him swirling down a path that would lead to nothing.

"What was that good for?" Faith asked. He pointed into the alley just left of him.

"Blood. In there."

Giles and Gunn kept their crossbows at the ready, Faith clutched the stake in her pocket, and the four of them went into the alley – the thick smell of blood now becoming apparent to all of them. They could all smell the blood, but Spike was the only one that could practically get the cliff notes version of everything that had happened there very recently, only by discerning the many different scents. Sweat, blood, gunpowder, bile… fear. But no Angelus. No Buffy.

"They're not here," Spike settled.

"No… but I think it's safe to say they have been," Gunn said, staring at something further down the alley. They walked closer slowly; knowing that the indistinct outline of... something couldn't be anything remotely pleasant.

And it really wasn't.

"Dear lord," Giles whispered weakly upon looking at was lay ahead. Blood had been splashed far up on the brick walls, and on the ground lay three people. A man and a woman had been undressed and placed in a humiliating position, and across their bodies something was written in thick, red letters… in lipstick, he realized.

"'Sucker for love'," Gunn read aloud, grimacing. "This is sick."

Next to the pair lay a woman – pale, blonde and bitten on both sides of the neck. The police badge and the gun on the ground rang a bell in Faith's head. She recognized this woman – she was a cop… and she knew Angel. Or had known, at least.

Faith felt sick to her stomach – not from the sight of blood of course, she had seen enough of that in her day to get used to it, but of the fact that this was the work of what she last year would have referred to, more or less mockingly depending on her own current mental status, as the two biggest goody-two-shoes in recent history. In possession of a conscience, they were heroes. Without it, they were ruthless monsters – and extremely good at what they did, too.

She side glanced at the others. Spike seemed… natural. No, actually, more like constricted, like he really enjoyed the view but forced himself not to show it, knowing what they might do to him if he did.

All the color had disappeared from Giles' face. His jaw was clenched as if he felt physically ill – which, come to think of it, he probably did – and he didn't say a word. Faith didn't know him well enough to be sure about what kind of emotions were passing through his head at the moment. Was he angry with Angelus for turning Buffy into something that would do this, was he shocked by the sight of what his Slayer-turned-vampire was capable of… had he even comprehended what all of this meant?

Gunn shook his head slowly, in disbelief and disgust. The mission had seemed hard enough to begin with – catching or stopping Angelus and Buffy somehow, without getting killed, tortured and maimed themselves – and probably not in that order – but now? The jolly fanged pair clearly didn't waste any time before going on a bloody killing spree. Of course he knew that Angel must have done way worse back in the day, but hearing about it was one thing. Seeing it was another. Was there really a way back from this?

Faith went over to a nearby dumpster, pulled out a dirty and demolished piece of burlap and put it over the two naked bodies, providing them at least a little cover. Not that it made them any difference, them being dead and all…But it felt like the thing to do anyway. Faith glanced at the bite marks and quickly looked away, kneeling next to the police woman. Kate Lockley, her badge said. For no reason at all really, she put two fingers on the side of her neck, carefully avoiding the bite wounds.

To her surprise, she could feel a faint thumping under her fingertips. This woman was alive, despite the fact that she had obviously been bitten by both of them. This was done deliberately. They wanted her to stay alive. The question was why.

"This one's alive," Faith called to Giles, Gunn and Spike who approached her.

"Angelus musta become a sloppy eater in his advancing age," Spike commented in a manner that made Faith unsure if he was just mocking Angel or really meant it. She shook her head.

"No, they did this on purpose," she muttered. "They must have." Gunn knelt next to the woman.

"Her pulse is pretty strong considering," he said. "If we can get her to a hospital she should have a good chance." Gunn had more experience dealing with vampire bites than he wanted to, but right now it came in hand.

During his many gang days, roaming the streets and living wherever they could find a place to stay at the moment, it hadn't been unusual for people to get bitten. Sometimes they were simply killed off, quickly and swiftly, but a few times they had managed to stop the attacks and save the victim.

And sometimes, _they_ had failed beyond imagination, screwing up the only thing that really mattered by letting their family get abducted, killed and turned into a creature of eternal damnation. Gunn swallowed and tried to push away the dark memories welling over and threatening to consume his mind. This was definitely not the time to reminisce. He picked up his cell phone and dialed 911.

"I can't stay here," Faith said to no one in particular. "They outta send a cop to, no?"

"Yeah, and we wouldn't want the heroine behind bars, now, would we?" Spike said. "Then again…" Faith shot him a glare.

"They're on their way," Gunn said, hanging up. Guess we better clear out." Faith nodded. Giles stood frozen, still staring at the bodies, trying to comprehend that Buffy, _his_ Buffy, had done this. She wasn't alone and she wasn't herself, but it didn't matter. The same girl he had come to love like a daughter, his Slayer… a brutal murderer.

Of course, as a Watcher with many years of experience, he should be the first one to know that his Buffy hadn't done this – his Buffy was dead. A vampire may have the appearance, the memories and some of the characteristics of its human host, but it's still a demon… a creature of eternal malevolence. On some level of reason, he understood that, but he didn't _comprehend_ it.

"So this… I guess, vamp version of art, what does it mean?" Gunn asked. "That they know were hot on their heels, or that they are sure that they have enough of a head start to do things like this?"

"Who knows," Faith said. "At least I should come as a surprise, we might be able to use that. We better get gone." She looked at Spike. "How's the whiffing going?" He moved uncomfortably from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. He took a few steps closed to the wall and inhaled. There was just a smidge of Angelus' blood mixed in there with all the human goodies, so obviously someone had managed to wound him. Unless he had done it deliberately by plant a false lead and throw them off the trail. With him, one could never be sure.

"Would say they went right through the alley," Spike said finally. Faith nodded.

"Right. Giles?" She stared at the man that seemed completely lost in thought.

Giles remembered when he had found Jenny in his apartment; it was a little more than three years ago now. The naive joy and expectation when he had found the rose, heard the music, read the note…

The tension and excitement when he had walked up the steps. He recalled that he had thought how nice and relaxing it would be to get his mind off everything going on with Angelus, even if it was only for one single night. Every minute of peace and calm at that time would have been a blessing. He remembered the relief about the fact that his and Jenny's relationship was clearing up, how good it had felt that there was at least a small gleam of hope in the midst of all the other chaos in their lives at the time. He had been happy and totally unprepared for what was to come.

And he remembered what he had felt when he found her. Walking up the last few steps, only to be met by her cold, blank gaze. That time, the shock was finding his beloved dead in his home after thinking for a few minutes that she was the one that set up the romantic scene…

This time, the shock wasn't about the dead people – how they had ended their lives was awful and disgusting, but the real shock lay in imagining Buffy doing this. Imagining her fingers clutching at their necks while she bit into them and drank… imagining her laughing and enjoying herself while they undressed their victims and set them up for display – and God knew what else they had done with them. It had been one thing when it was only Angelus doing it. He was after all a creature that had been known for his pure, sadistic evil centuries before Giles was even born. It had been easier to come to terms with.

Did this mean that Buffy was damned forever? If they did manage to restore her soul – would she be the Buffy he remembered again, or would she feel as if redemption was impossible for her? Of course, this – and what probably was to come – would inevitably change her forever, to what degree he could only imagine.

Ironically enough, Giles thought, the only way he could imagine Buffy recovering during a conceivable time span might very well be if Angel was by her side and helped her. Which didn't only mean that killing Angelus wouldn't be an option – it also meant that all of them would have to, if not forgive then at least accept Angel, despite everything that he had done, for Buffy's sake.

Giles tried, and failed, to swallow his bitterness. The monster who was responsible for all this, for Buffy's death and therefore also indirectly for the people she killed, was the one they depended on to save her. The irony of it would probably amuse a sadist like Angelus.

"Giles!" Faith yelled, and he realized it probably wasn't the first time she called his name. He looked at her.

"Hmm? Y-yes?"

"Time to get gone. Giving the enemy a big head start isn't generally considered a great idea. 'Sides, cops gotta be on their way, which means if I'm not outta here in a few minutes, you'll be one Slayer short," she said, realizing her tactless phrasing too late. She bit her tongue and stayed silent.

"Right. Uh… G-good point. Let's, ah, let's go."

"Not just yet."

They heard a man's voice behind them. For a second all of them probably expected Angelus to step out – they all tensed and raised their weapons. But the creature that swaggered out of the shadows was a short, fat vampire in full game face with a cocky smile on his lips. Probably drawn to the alley by the smell of blood and thinking that he was about to have his biggest meal ever, with four people to chow down on. Of course he had no idea who they were, or that he had just made sure that his eternal life would get very cut short by stepping up to them.

"Great," Faith said. "Okay, look. If you wanna party, hurry it up Porky. I have more important things to do," she continued confidently.

"Yo, Faith?" she heard Gunn's voice. "I think he brought some friends."

Faith turned around and saw another seven vampires sneaking up on them from behind. How nice, she thought. Because this was just what they needed right now.


	38. TRACKING DOWN

_A/N: Howdy, good folks. Yes, I AM back. Hoping that some of you want to return to this story despite the looong hiatus. It was never my intention to abandon it, it has just been, as Wesley would say - "a busy couple of- years". I've had way too much fun writing this, and to clarify - the story in itself is finished, it just needs some completion and more or less heavy editing along the way. The story WILL be published in full, I won't have it any other way! Now please, get back into the story and DO by all means give me some feedback. Toodles. _

* * *

**CHAPTER 38: TRACKING DOWN **

* * *

The gang stood their ground, senses peeked, their weapons at the ready. These vamps weren't exactly the pride of their race. They were hunting in packs, probably because that was their best shot of catching a meal. They were probably drawn to this particular alley by the smell of the blood, and lacking the ability to recognize overwhelming odds when they saw them, they hadn't backed out from the confrontation when they still could. That, or they thought that the eight of them would have an easy time picking off what they thought were four mere humans.

Faith clutched her stake harder. These creatures didn't really constitute world in peril stuff. These vampires were vermin, barely more than overgrown mosquitoes. Back in the day, she would have joyfully cleaned out nests with similar inhabitants all by herself, just for the kick of having some release. But here and now it was a delay they really didn't needed.

"We_so_ don't have time for this," she muttered under her breath.

"Don't think we have a choice here, Slayer," Spike replied, not taking his eyes from the vamps.

The fat guy lunged forward, fangs bared, arms flailing out. He was heavy, and he was uncoordinated.

And he was dust before he even had time to consider what he was going to do to the Slayer once he reached her. Faith wasted no time, whipping around to face two of them that tried to attack her from behind. Spike grabbed one of them, lifted his skinny frame and threw him with full force into two of his buddies, sending all three of them sprawling to the ground. He was on them in an instant, smashing and tearing. How he had longed for a little release. Good old violence.

Gunn was attacked by two vamps, easily blocking their blows and soon pinning on of them down, killing it.

Plunging her stake into another unbeating heart without even looking, Faith moved quickly and helped Giles out with a vamp that tried to corner him, him not really being at full strength without full use of his right arm. Quickly killing it, she threw a glance in Spike's direction. He was still pounding away on his trio of vamps.

"Hey, pinstripe! This being just a warm-up, might wanna save some of the rage for the main event."

Finishing with a last kick to one of the vamps, Spike staked them – one, two, three – and leapt to his feet, licking his bloody knuckles and shrugging off of Faiths look.

"You must be really desperate", she commented. "Lickling another vamp's blood off of yourself?"

"Not really into settling for another guy's seconds, but what do you do, eh? You offerin' something better?"

"Really?" Faith ignored his last comment and kicked vamp number seven, practically tripping him over Gunn's stake and turning back to Spike. "But if you're not settling for someone else's seconds… why'd you stay with that loony girl friend of yours for over a century? For someone who doesn't care for seconds, you seem pretty comfortable settling for _Angel's_ seconds. AND mimicking, oh you know, like everything else he does."

Spike sniffed at that. "I'm NOTHING like Angel. Angel's _dumb_. His hair sticks right up." Faith grinned at that.

"He's a eunuch, you know, or practically as good as anyhow" Spike muttered, eying the piles of dust on the ground. Seven of them, obliterated in minutes. Pathetic.

Seven of them?

"Wait a minute. Wasn't there eight of them?" he said, looking around.

"One of them must have fled," Gunn commented, eying the destruction. "Kinda making that one the smartest one in this crowd." Faith eyed the alley exit. She could probably track it if she had a mind to. But they didn't have time for that now. After all, these vamps were just a distraction.

They were hunting much bigger game tonight.

-

* * *

-

Angelus and Buffy were moving quickly and soundlessly through a park. Side by side, two dark shadows that wouldn't be easily spotted at least by anything human. Angelus watched Buffy as they moved, taking in her presence. Having been cooped up inside for the last few days, it was good to get out and stretch his legs. Her first night, looking at the world with new eyes, he was mostly just following her lead now, watching her actions. Relishing. But still this was his night as much as if was hers. He got to watch her, watch his creation develop. More than enough payoff, and the night was still young.

Earlier they had robbed a small clothing store, fulfilling Buffy's wish to make a wardrobe change. They _had_ gone there merely for clothes, not expecting anyone to be there so late at night – so the two women working late had been a surprise. A pleasant surprise.

The first one begged for mercy as Buffy bit her, and of course, it had only made her bite harder. Angelus had been holding the other one firmly, making her watch her friend, practically feeding off the intoxicating fragrance of her fear. Buffy had thrown her victim to the ground, not yet completely dead, and produced a small knife from her pocket. Resolutely ripping her shirt off.

When she started cutting, the lovely scent of panic and fear coming of the girl Angelus held quickly changed to something considerably viler when the deeply shocked and panicking woman self defecated.

"People," Angelus had coughed, smacking the woman across the face and sending her unconscious and probably concussed to the ground, his delicate senses not loving this particular one of human odors. "They're disgusting." He looked down at Buffy, who didn't reply, intrigued. Digging, tearing and ripping, she had produced several feet of intestine from the barely alive woman's body. A satisfied smile tugged at his lips.

"And what are those for?" he had asked her.

"We're not killing her," Buffy had stated, indicating the unconscious form of the other woman and fingering the intestines, testing their supple strength. "But when she wakes up, she'll probably wanna kill_herself_."

So they had left her there, alive, not even that badly injured – not physically anyways. But knowing the feeble human minds, they knew the delightful surprise that awaited her when she woke up, finding herself bound and gagged with her friends guts, bathing in the sticky fluids a human body would produce when cut up and torn apart - now,_ that_ was an image the woman would never be rid of, now matter how hard she tried. Angelus could only imagine it. It was almost a shame they didn't have time to stick around to see it, but they wanted to make more of this night.

As they walked down the street, they heard a screaming, soon followed by a young woman that came running from an alley. Not far behind her came a pathetic looking vampire that had obviously tried and failed to make the woman his midnight snack. He looked like a weasel, and he ran like one, dashing forward step by step, growling and grimacing in his game face, reaching out for her with pale hands. Angelus and Buffy watched with disgust.

"Moahaha! I'm craving your blood, your pure blood!" the wimp shouted and Angelus sighed. That B-movie crap stereotype, made popular by hack writers and ignorant media. Shaming the entire race.

Still, some fun could come out of this. He exchanged a look with Buffy and saw that they were thinking the same thing. Time for an intervention.

The woman ran right at them, and since she was preoccupied with looking over her shoulder to see if her attacker was closing in, it was easy for Angelus to maneuver himself to a position where she smacked right into him. As she hit him, she shrieked and stared at him with widened, panicked eyes, breathing hard with quick and ragged breaths. Angelus mimiced his best soft expression and smiled reassuringly at her. She calmed down.

"Hey, hey! Shh, take it easy. What's wrong, honey?" he asked in a sickly sweet voice. Buffy fought to keep her face straight, stifling a giggle.

"H-help me, please," she said pleadingly. "H-he, that man, he attacked me." Angelus put his arm around her and spoke in a soothing voice.

"Okay. It's alright, I've got you." The other vampire finally caught up with them and stared angrily at Angelus.

"Piss of pal," he tried to menace, hissing for emphasis and making a clawing motion with his hand, not realizing how stupid he looked, as if making an impression of a cat. "This is my kill." Angelus grinned.

"Keeper's finders. Why would a – a knight for hire, like myself let a rat like you have this… luscious little snack?" The woman tensed in Angelus' grip, starting to realize that she probably would have been better off on her own.

The vampire stared intensively at Angelus and started connecting the dots. Lurking the underworld, he had heard the rumors, after all. "Oh, man. You're that Angel dude?" Angelus cracked a smirk. "Yeah, I know about you, man." The wimp let out a cackle. "I've heard a lot about you. They call you the flaccid Scourge of Europe."

Angelus grin faded and he snorted. He'd never heard that before. Not even_Angel_ would tolerate that. Buffy laughed heartily and he shot her a look.

"A good guy vampire that doesn't hurt humans anymore, huh?" the vampire mocked, in false certainty that he somehow was safe from being staked. Or maybe he was just too stupid to realize how unhealthy such cockiness was in the company of either Angel or Angelus. "So tell me, is it true that those warlocks or whatever that made you… whatever you are… that they, you know." He made a clipping motion with his fingers. "Snip, snip?" He grinned triumphantly, then leaned forward and lowered his voice, as if sharing something intimate with the bigger vampire. "So… how much'd they take?" he whispered, cocking his eyebrows and lowering his gaze somewhat.

"You guess," Angelus said as he deftly snapped the neck of the woman and pushed her body over to Buffy, who watched the comical situation in silence. Angelus stepped up to the lesser vampire, who seemed to shrink before him.

"Now, this would be the part where you beg for your pathetic existence," he hissed, towering over him. The wimp, beginning to realize his mistake, let his eyes dart back and forth between Angelus, Buffy and the dead girl.

"Man, dude, I-I didn't know. Man, I swear. I'm sorry!"

"Not hearing any good begging yet," Angelus growled as he grabbed the vampires arm and twisted it, not actually breaking it but holding it in a position where he could with just a flick of his wrist. The vamp whimpered.

"Okay, okay, sorry, right! Do you want something? We can work this out the cool way, man. Just don't… uh, rip anything. Please!"

"Please?" Angelus snorted. "You call this good begging? A vampire, pleading not to be hurt? You're an insult to the entire race. And YOU honestly think you have something that would interest me," he went on, almost amused.

"How about some information? Uh, uh, hah- maybe the latest in the vamp world? I have the hot stuff." Angelus let his arm go for a minute and the wimp instantly cradled it to his chest, rubbing it.

"Tell me." He stared coldly at the vampire. "And do take a moment to consider what will happen to you if you're screwing with me."

The vampire laughed nervously. "Heh heh heh. Eh-uh… You know, me and my peeps ran into someone interesting just recently. A_girl_."

"Not interested yet."

"Ah, but this isn't just any girl, my good man." The wimp was gaining in confidence. "This was a _Slayer_." At that, Buffy discarded the slack body she was holding and moved closer.

"A Slayer?" she repeated.

The vampire nodded enthusiastically. "Uh-huh. In the flesh. And how nice a flesh it was too… About this tall," he gestured, "brown hair, dark eyes, bad ass look. She made sprinkles of all my gang. But I, I handled it. I mean, I did a number on her, you know." The wimp grinned, already imagining how the story would sound when he spread it over the city, hell, maybe over the world. HE had gotten out of a fight with the Slayer _alive_.

Angelus chuckled. "Dear old Faith. Well. The return of a Vampire Slayer. Wouldn't be sporting not to give her a proper welcome back into the game, or what do you think, Buff?"

Buffy grinned at that, turning back to the weasel.

"Was she alone?" she demanded.

"Oh, uh, no. There was this black dude, and some old guy… and Billy Idol. Did you know he was a vampire? 'Cause, uh…I didn't."

Angelus smirked and carefully maneuvered a stake from his pocket. The vampire didn't even notice.

"Geez, I'm really thankful for the information, fellow fanged brother," he smirked. "And to show my appreciation, I'll do you a favor."

"Yeah, what's that, dude?"

Angelus reached out and staked the vampire before he could even react. Angelus waved away his cloud of dust.

"End your pathetic existence," he muttered, and then turned back to Buffy.

"So. I guess we better go greet the Slayer."

-

* * *

-

"Do you even know where you're going?" Faith asked Spike. She was walking a few paces behind him. They had been walking on the trail for hours now – or at least it seemed like it. She wasn't actually wearing a watch. His tracking had led them to an old, abandoned storage house.

"'Course I don't, Slayer. Just following the trail here." He inhaled deeply, analyzing the scent. There was something… the smell of something very close, the smell of something that made him lick his lips and physically fight himself to hold the roaring demon within under control.

"Still hours until dawn," Gunn commented. "We've still got time."

"Yeah, and _they_ still got time," Faith replied bitterly.

"Yeah, so, where are we going with this?" Gunn continued. "Will smella-boy know when they're close?"

"Something'll turn up," Faith said confidently, although fearing what that might mean. "Something always does. You know, trail of body parts, tell tale clue…" she trailed off. "What the hell…"

"Faith?" Giles walked up to her, adjusting his glasses and tried to see what she was looking at further ahead in the darkness. Spike had already seen it, and said nothing. He clenched his jaw, staring coldly at what was ahead.

The naïve person might have mistaken his stony stance for shock and repulsion, but Faith knew better. Chipmanship or not, Spike wasn't_ good_. He was a soulless creature after all, just like the ones they were tracking. If he didn't have that chip up his brain, he'd probably be going off with Drusilla or joining Angelus and Buffy and try to kill them horribly instead of helping them. Like a vicious guard dog with an electric collar, it wasn't kindness or morals that kept Spike in his place, just him knowing that his skull would be torn apart by pain if he crossed the line.

As they slowly and warily crept closer walked a little closer, Gunn and Giles could see what they were looking at, too.

"Bloody hell," Giles whispered.

Just 50 feet or so away now, against the brick wall were the bodies of 12 young men. They had all been stripped of their jackets and shirts, their upper bodies bare, and they were propped up on their knees in a neat and orderly line with their pale torsos perfectly arranged next to each other, facing their way. Well, their bodies weren't completely bare. They each had one letter carved into the flesh, spelling out the words "WELCOME FAITH".

"Well then. So much for the element of surprise," Spike commented matter-of-factly. He moved a little closer to get a better look. All of them were dead, but not all had been fed off. Maybe if he could lure the others away he could get himself a little…

Faith stared at the dead men. She didn't have a vampire's sense of smell, but the stench of shit and vomit and blood was still impossible to miss now when they had gotten this close. Looking closely, she could see that the faces of the men were battered, their arms bruised and bloody. This wasn't just a message carved into dead _bodies_, she realized. They had been _alive_ when it happened. She could see that their pants were dark with still wet blood, the wounds had been wiped off for the letters to look neat but the bleeding when it was done must have been profuse.

Faith felt bile rushing up in her throat like acid. She had to clench her teeth and look away, swallowing repeatedly, to avoid throwing up where she stood. It wasn't like she was faint-hearted or anything. Sticking knives into people, having their warm blood spill over her hands… she had been there. But the thought of how Angelus and Buffy had carefully been planning and acting out all of this, taking the time to find twelve men and drag them here, carving in those letters, propping them up like that, so neatly, so perfectly… it was like a work of art. Without any other point than to rattle her, scare and disgust them.

And, it was just what she needed. She looked back at the bodies. If they thought that she would go all weak in the knees and run back to her prison cell and hide under her bunk because of this, they were _wrong_. This act gave her the extra edge that she would need fighting them. They were vampires, she was the Slayer. She was chosen to do this, after all. She wasn't here to kill them tonight, and she hoped that it would never come to the point where she had to, but she knew that if she for even a second let herself think of her opponents as what they had been before, she would lose. Being so very clearly reminded off what they were now helped.

"Alright. We're splitting up," Faith said firmly with a new grim determination in her eyes.

"Split up? Are you sure that's wise?" Giles said weakly, trying to breathe only through his mouth.

"There are two of them, right? Well, we can't just parade around their little house of horrors like some tourist group for the rest of the night. If they don't wanna be found, we won't have any chance of doing it like this. And if they _wanna_ be found? Not really hard to trap us if we're staying together like a herd of sheep."

Giles pondered that for a second, and nodded hesitantly. "Alright. How do you… eh, suggest we divide ourselves?"

"You with me. Gunn and Spike can go together." Faith looked at Giles. When he looked down at the floor, she was afraid for a second that he would refuse. Maybe even think that she was betraying them, she thought darkly. But then he looked up and nodded again.

"Alright."

"You two," she looked at Spike. "You can you go to the left, I and Giles go to the right. If we don't find anything we meet up on the other side. Yell if you need help, I guess," she stated, inwardly knowing that if they heard that scream for help, it would probably be too late to save them anyway. "You carry this," Faith stated, handing Gunn the tranquilizer gun. "If you get _any_ opening, take the shot." Gunn nodded shortly and took of after Spike who already had started off further into the darkness.

"Coming, Giles?" The watcher was staring blankly at the bodies. No question what he was thinking about – but they had to put that aside now.

"Hm? Oh, yes, yes."

They walked as quickly and soundlessly as they could through the dark warehouse. Not like it mattered if they were quiet, though. If they were here, they were probably watching them already. It was dank and damp and smelled of oil and rotten wood. No one had used this storage for a long time, the only thing left in it was old loading pallets, chains, meat hooks and oil drums. Perfect hiding place, Faith thought bitterly. The vampire's could stay undetected for as long as they wanted. They wandered around for a good while, and Faith couldn't hear anything of interest. Maybe they weren't even here anymore. Maybe they had already left, plotting their next move in the safety of a new bat cave somewhere.

The silence was interrupted by a thud and a clang. That was definitely the sound of something falling, or somebody jumping.

And then she heard the voice.

"Fai-th," the voice called out, slightly sing-song. "Faith!"

Giles concentrated on the sound. His hearing wasn't as sharp as Faith's, but he could hear the voice as well. "Who…?"

"Angelus," Faith said bitterly. "Definitely."

"Faithy, I'm glad you came," the voice called out again, louder this time. "Too bad you brought Rupert though. All work and no play has made him such a dull boy." Faith was fascinated by the new edge to the voice she knew so well. It was low and dangerous but still familiar. It was Angel's, yet it wasn't.

"That doesn't apply to you? Seems all the work Angel's been doing hasn't spoiled your sense of fun. Nice welcoming gift, by the way," Faith spoke. She wanted him to speak again so that she could pinpoint his location with more certainty. The warehouse wasn't only dark, dank and with tons of hiding places – the ceiling was high, and it echoed. Of course he knew that. He could stay invisible and taunt her for however long he liked.

Angelus didn't answer her. She decided to try again.

"So, how've you been? I don't think we've actually been formally introduced. You're supposed to be the Scourge of Europe, huh? Baddest single vamp of all the bad vamps or something like that? Why don't you come out and say hello like a proper boy?"

He chuckled cheerfully and it sent chills down her spine. Had she ever heard Angel laugh, at all?

"Come on," she spoke louder. "What are you waiting for? Come out and give us a kiss."

"All in good time," he answered. "I'm an old fashioned demon. Ladies first, you know."

"Really."

"That's right," they heard another familiar voice behind them. Faith whipped around, angry that she hadn't seen that cheap trick coming. Angelus head just been talking to distract her so that she could sneak up on them undetected.

She. Her. _Buffy_. She sneered at her.

"Hello there, Faith."


	39. INTIMATE STRANGER

* * *

**CHAPTER 39: INTIMATE STRANGER **

* * *

Giles was frozen. Paralyzed by her presence. Every inch of him screamed to raise his weapon and fire. This wasn't _his_ Buffy; this was the demon, a demon he had never met before. A demon that had existed for less than a day and already had shown remarkable viciousness. It may be wearing her face, but, it wasn't _her_. He of all people should know this. This was merely a shell of his Slayer, her body, taken over by a soulless demon. It might have her movements, her voice, her memories, but it wasn't her.

Before knowing Angel, he had been sure that there was no halfway, no exceptions, but… now he knew that there was a chance. This demon wasn't Buffy, but it had the potential to be her again. He couldn't suppress the memory of the ensouled Buffy from before and if there was even the slightest chance that they could re-ensoul her again, he had to take it.

"Buffy… I don't want to hurt you," he spoke softy. He knew better than really thinking that a few warm phrases, a token of love would affect this ruthless demon that had indeed murdered several innocent people in the company of her sire tonight. He knew that it wouldn't. It was irrational and unprofessional of him, but… he had to try.

She laughed harshly, staring coldly at him.

"Don't worry, I wont give you the chance to. Too bad for you it's not mutual."

Angelus leapt down from a pile of loading pallets, landing smoothly close to Faith, facing off with her. She eyed him. So this was Angelus. Angel's body and Angel's demon, but no soul. The vampire in front of her was familiar, yet so very different. His stance, his movements, his voice and his eyes. She couldn't believe that anyone would mistake this gleeful killer for a soulful creature.

She had fought Angel before. More than once. Problem was, _Angel_ had never meant to kill her. Mistaking herself that facing Angelus now, tonight, would be anything like those encounters could very well be a fatal mistake. She wasn't going for the kill. But holding back for even a second could be the last thing she ever did.

"So, well," she said, breaking the silence. This standoff couldn't last forever. "This is the great Angelus. You've got quite a reputation to live up to, huh. Wanna show me what you got?"

"Mmm. But greatness isn't just about possessing power, Faithy," Angelus sneered, circling her slowly. "If it was, any vampire with an army would be entitled to that label. Greatness is about achieving what seems impossible to others."

"Yeah? Such as?"

"Well, you know, I could make you a list." He took a few steps back. "Or, why don't I just show you."

The split second when Faith stopped and considered what he meant gave him the upper hand. He grabbed the pile of loading pallets and pulled hard, making them collapse over her. The wood creaked and broke as it hit the hard floor and she was on her feet again in a second, a little dazed. At least Gunn and Spike must have heard that, she thought, as she ducked out of the debris, trying her best to block a series of hits from Angelus.

Watching the fight with one eye, and keeping the other on the meekly old man her human half had loved as a father, Buffy weighed her options here. On one hand, she would be happy to go for the kill right away. He just stood there, weapon raised, and he _loved_ her. Even though seeing what she had become and seeing what she was capable of, she could still feel the stink of it on him. He was practically mocking her with his feelings. _Caring. Hope. _

She would be happy to take him apart right now, crush his feeble life in the palm of her hand and have it over with. But then, that would be too easy. So very easy, over in an instant. She didn't just want him to die, she wanted him to suffer. She wanted to feel all that love and caring drain from his body and trickle away. Maybe she could finally try that chain saw thing Angelus had talked about. He'd had _that_one coming for years. This wasn't the time or the place for that. Right now, she just wanted to shake him up a bit.

Giles saw her, ready to attack, and he knew he had to do something. Faith was having a difficult time on her end and couldn't be expected to aid him here. He fired his crossbow. It was a sloppy shot, partly because it was done with his left hand and partly because his heart wasn't in it, but it distracted her for a few more seconds. The arrow whistled through the air and landed with a thud in a barrel behind Buffy.

"Nice shot!" she exclaimed mockingly, pulling the arrow out of the barrel and twiddling it between her fingers. She looked straight at him, creeping closer, laughing at his expression.

"Now. Why is it, dear man, that you look like an idiot?"

Faith caught Angelus in the jaw with a roundhouse kick, and he went down for a moment. She saw Buffy stalking Giles into a corner. She was toying with him, and he was completely ill-equipped to fight her. If she wanted him to live, she would have to step in. She took a hit from Angelus but wasn't fazed as she head butted him and used the second he was dazed to kick him hard in the gut. When he was down she kicked the back of his knee which sent him to the ground – only momentarily, but long enough to get away. Attacking Buffy from the back, she grabbed her by the collar and threw her back, away from Giles. Buffy almost didn't seem to mind.

"Faith," she said cheerfully. "My very own little body snatcher. Still set on switching places and boyfriends with me, huh, is that why you abandoned your jailhouse atonement deal?"

"That part of my life is over, B," she said, careful not to let Buffy's words confuse her.

"The atonement part? 'Cause, yeah, I wouldn't really have expected anything else. After all, every time things get tough, you seem to run the other way. Or get yourself knocked into a coma or something. Never had the stamina to follow things through. Way to deal."

Faith didn't listen to her. They were only words. Faith spotted a heavy chain on the floor. Possible weapon? It was worth a shot.

"So you're here now as the reformed Slayer. Aww, it's so sweet – I think I'm, I'm gonna cry," she said in a mocking voice, faking a sob.

"I'll give you something you cry about," Faith said with a grin. Not letting her eyes off Buffy she grabbed the chain and hauled it at her.

Thanks to the element of surprise – Buffy hadn't spotted the possible weapon on the floor, Faith actually hit her. The chain hit her over the chest and neck, and Buffy staggered backwards. Faith used the opening and lunged forward.

Angelus quickly got up and turned to Giles who looked at him grimly. Dear Rupert.

Without hesitation Giles fired his crossbow. Angelus dodged and barely got out of the way. Seeing that the weapon wouldn't be any good as long as Angelus saw him fire it, he threw it aside and picked up a large piece of broken wood from the ground without ever letting his eyes off the vampire.

The piece of wood was too blunt to be used as a stake, and too big for him to maneuver to that end, but that wasn't what he was going to use it for. He lunged at Angelus and managed to hit him in the side. He wasn't even fazed. He spun around, jumped away from the make-do cudgel and punched Giles playfully in the face.

"Oh, come on, Rupert," he taunted. "Give it your best shot. Take your revenge, it's true as they say, it is sweet." He dodged another blow. "If only you weren't lacking as badly in that department as in protecting your loved ones, hmm? First your girl, now Buffy, precious little Buff…" he laughed as Giles almost stumbled over himself in his rage as he tried to hit him again. Angelus grabbed him by the neck with one arm and the wrist with the other. He shook it hard, forcing Giles to let go of his weapon. He held him there for a moment, leaning in close, whispering to him.

"I just want you to know one thing, Rupert. I'm not gonna kill you, oh no. I've promised her she can have you all you herself. I'll watch, though. Watch when the closest thing you've ever had to a daughter tears you limb from limb."

Angelus lifted him and slammed him against a wooden crate. Giles groaned.

"Heh heh heh. Strike one!" Angelus exclaimed. He hit Giles squarely in the face.

"Strike two!" Before Giles could prepare, Angelus whacked him over one of the fallen oil drums and kicked it, which made it – and Giles – tumble in to the other ones.

"Strike three! You take a nap over there, old buddy," Angelus said to his opponent who seemed to be out of commission. He turned his attention to Faith and Buffy who fought fiercely, exchanging a flurry of blows and kicks.

Faith tried to flip Buffy over her shoulder, but she blocked her move and kicked Faith in the side. Faith managed to grab her by the shoulders and slam her into a pile of loading pallets. Buffy was dazed but recovered quickly. She jumped and kicked Faith in the chest with both legs. Faith lost her breath from the hard blow and fell backwards.

"Oh yeah, watch out. This girl is on fire," Angelus commented. He had no desire to join in, he was just enjoying the view here.

The intense fight went on for minutes. Faith and Buffy continued to exchange blows, without either really getting the upper hand. They were very equally matched – had been even before Buffy became a vampire. As fun as he had watching, this could go on until morning. Angelus glanced at his watch.

"Someone should break this up," he said as he prepared to join in. Before he had the time to, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head. He fell to the ground with a grunt. Above him he saw Giles, bloody and battered, but conscious, holding a thick iron pipe at the ready.

"Play nice," he hissed and started hitting on Angelus again. And again. He got in a good seven or eight blows before Angelus had the time to collect himself enough to catch the pipe. He caught it just as it was about to connect with his head again, held it tightly and pushed back hard. If the end of the pipe had been sharper, Giles would have been impaled. As it was, it was too blunt, but it still sent Giles flying backwards. He sprawled on the ground, gasping for air. Angelus got to his feet, just a little slower than before. He grabbed Giles by the throat and lifted him off his feet.

"You really never learn, do you?" Angelus hissed, indicating a similar scene some three years back. This time the only Slayer that might want to save him was busy being beaten into a bloody pulp by the Slayer that had saved him that time. Oh, the irony. How he would enjoy listening to the sound of every piece of bone in Giles' neck crushing. He squeezed just a little tighter around the throat. And here he had been promising _not_ to kill him. Oh, well.

Angelus was just about to press down harder when he heard a whistling sound. He recognized it and immediately knew what was about to hit him, but he didn't have the time to act, hissing as the arrow hit him in the back.

This time he was lucky that no one of them seemed intent on killing either him or Buffy, because whoever shot this arrow _had_ had an opening. Or maybe it was just a sucky shot. His attention drawn off Giles, he threw him to the side and turned around.

Twenty feet away stood no one else than Spike and smirked at him. Angelus growled. So, sucky shot it was. He saw Buffy whacking Faith to the ground. She was nearly unconscious now and even if she still tried to fight back she had to use all her strength to block Buffy's moves.

Gunn, who came up right behind Spike, saw it. He raised his tranq gun, firing a dart at Angelus who easily jumped out of its way and took the opportunity to grab Giles again, pulling him up by the collar and holding him firmly by the throat. Gunn fired another one at Buffy who saw the move coming and pushed Faith in front of her, using her as a shield. The dart hit her in the back, knocking her out almost instantly and she slumped to the ground.

"Get her!" Gunn yelled at Spike as he made a run towards Giles and Angelus, gun raised. The silent standoff lasted for a few suspenseful moments before Angelus ended it by hurling Giles over Gunn, making them both fall to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Gunn dropped his gun and Angelus kicked it out of the way.

This round was over. A bloody battle was always refreshing, but _this_ wasn't how he wanted to kill the Scoobies. After all, the games had barely begun.

"Buffy, we're going!" he yelled. She was now circling Spike, blocking his attempts to retrieve the unconscious form of Faith. She seemed disappointed and stared at him, darkly and defiantly. "Come on!" he growled again, leaving no room for argument. As soon as Buffy backed away a few steps, Spike grabbed Faith and picked her up, hurrying over to Gunn and Giles.

When Gunn whipped around to see where the vampires went, they were already gone.

-

* * *

-

"Yo, coming through!" Gunn yelled as he swung open the door to Cordelia's apartment, carrying Faith. Spike came bouncing in right behind him, cursing and sizzling.

"What the hell is this, someone spill a gallon of holy water all over the entrance?" he hissed, slumping down on a chair, examining his boots.

"We consecrated the ground, thought it would make it harder for them to…" Willow trailed off, seeing the still form of Faith in Gunn's arms. "God what happened?"

Xander and Anya stood together and watched them with concern. Wesley sat in his wheelchair and looked at them silently, somber.

Cordelia hurried up to Gunn and Faith. She didn't look _that_ badly hurt, but blood was dripping from a gash on her temple and she had a few cuts and bruises. But obviously something, or someone, had knocked her out.

"What happened to her, she isn't…?"

"…coma girl again?" Xander filled in.

"Ended up on the receiving end of the tranq gun," Gunn supplied, grimacing. "Now that thing is good in theory, but…"

Cordelia quickly cleared off the couch, motioning for Gunn to put the unconscious Slayer there. She gave her a look of concern before turning to the others. Giles had cuts and bruises too, the most apparent being a large one over his throat.

"Oh Giles, what happened to your neck?" Willow asked.

"Angelus decided he wanted Giles to turn into a mime," Gunn answered for him. Giles cautiously sat down on the edge of a chair.

"Xander, get some ice," Willow ordered.

Cordelia sat down on the edge of her coffee table and studied the battered fighters.

"So, on a scale from one to a million… Exactly how badly did it go?"

"Well, we found them," Gunn said. "Guess that part's clear. We split up… and it turns out we really shouldn't have," he continued with a look at Giles.

"Too strong. She couldn't fight them both alone," he attempted quietly.

"Didn't see all of it, but when I and Spike got there Angelus was doing a neck crush on Giles… Buffy seemed to be kicking the living hell out of Faith."

"I thought Faith was supposed to be _strong_," Anya said. "I thought she was supposed to be our best chance of getting Angel and Buffy back."

"She is," Giles said in a weak, raspy voice. "She did fine. But Buffy's very strong… has vampire perseverance," he said.

"But, uh… Didn't Faith kinda get demolished?" Xander asked, handing Giles the ice pack. He looked at the still form on the couch. "And if she did that badly, how will she be able to help us?" Giles didn't answer him.

"Did you hurt them… you know, at all?" Willow asked.

Giles shrugged.

"Well, I shot the bugger," Spike supplied in with a smirk. Especially Xander looked pleased by that comment.

"And... Buffy?" Willow had to force herself to utter the question.

"Faith did a number on her," Gunn said. "By the look of it, anyway. Dunno if she was badly hurt."

"I guess we just better hope she recovers quickly," Cordelia said, glancing at Faith. "'Cause Angelus and Buffy sure as hell will."


	40. INTERMISSION

_A/N: Thanks for the feedback! Keep it coming. _

* * *

**CHAPTER 40: INTERMISSION **

* * *

Hours later. The sun was high in the sky. 

Faith, awake from her involuntary rest, was in the shower. She let a steady stream of water flow over her aching body, wincing when she felt her sore temple and rinsed the dried blood out of her hair. After all the blood was washed away and her aching muscles warmed up by the hot water, she looked and felt a lot better – at least physically. The exterior wounds wouldn't take long to heal. She was pretty beat up, but nothing was broken. But… the first encounter with the vampire pair had been a disaster. If Buffy and Angelus had _wanted_ to, they could have killed them there and then. She had rushed headlong into their pursuit, already making the first of a series of bad decisions when they ran off half cocked, badly prepared, without backup or even a solid plan. And then, following their trail so obviously into a trap and splitting up the group? _Stupid._But it was as she had always done things. Stupidly.

She stepped out of the shower, drying herself off and dressing. No time to sulk and hide in the bathroom; they still had a war to fight.

She pushed away all dark thoughts, took a deep breath and walked out into the living room where everyone was gathered, looking pretty discouraged. There was a stifling atmosphere filling the room and everybody was unusually quiet. She had to bring up the subject again – she was after all the closest thing they had to a leader in this battle, no matter how badly she handled that role.

"You okay?" Cordelia asked. Faith nodded briefly.

"Okay, look. I know that didn't go… too well, but at least we know one thing. They're not invincible. They can be fought and they can be defeated. Now, the question is what we do next. First of all, we need to get more tranq guns. If they're asleep, it doesn't matter how much maniacal laughter they can dread up. Everyone should carry one. If we had been tonight, we _would_ have taken them both down." Well, she couldn't be sure of that. But it sounded good. Not waiting for anybody to say anything, she went on.

"Second, Willow? What's new in the re-ensoulment department?" Willow grimaced.

"Well I, I'm not sure. There _might_ be good news. We got hold of this guy who claims he can get his hands on an orb of Thesulah, for a whole lot of money, but…"

"Not really in a haggling position, are we," Faith filled in. "When?"

"He says he can have it tonight. Where's supposed to meet him at his house, somewhere on the other side of town, I have the address written down somewhere… sometime after sunset."

"Then I guess we'd better hope he's not lying. What about B?"

Willow looked unhappy, staring down at her hands, shaking her head.

"First thing's first," Wesley cut in, covering for Willow. "We should concentrate our efforts on restoring Angel's soul first, is my opinion. We know how to, and if it can be done shortly, it is definitely the safest way of putting Angelus out of action. When we get Angel back, we can concentrate on Buffy and he… he'll be here to help."

Faith nodded. She noted that he said "when", not "if" they got Angel back. That was good. She didn't know how the others felt, but Wes was in the game and it was a relief for her. He hadn't given up on Angel, and she _couldn't_. Not after everything.

"Sounds like we got everything under control, then," she said, faking optimism, looking at the battered and worn group. "I guess we should use the safety of sunlight and rest for a few hours, or something."

What they didn't hear was the sound of a car engine roaring to life and heading away from Cordelia's apartment building.

-

* * *

-

It was the sound of footsteps that awoke Angelus sometime during the early afternoon. He listened hard for a few seconds. He could hear the sounds of a few, maybe three or four people that had just walked into his lobby. Uninvited. If he was really lucky it might be potential Angel Investigations clients – now _that_ he would enjoy. Taking advantage of the soul's clientele as a lunch delivery wasn't an unappealing thought.

Of course, it might also be the goodies that decided to strike again – he wouldn't expect them to be quite that stupid, but who knew. They weren't exactly known for their flawless battle strategies after all. He swung out of bed and pulled on some clothes.

Without a sound he skulked to the stairs and looked down in the lobby, still unseen by the visitors. Four suit clad men carrying briefcases and reeking of cologne stood silently and looked at each other, seemingly waiting for him.

Lawyers. Not hard to guess where they were from. Angelus had to smother a growl. Maybe he should like Wolfram & Hart – after all, they had played a pretty big part in Angel releasing his inner self – but he didn't. Something about the corporate evil thing didn't appeal to him. They were too big, too full of themselves. Hiding in their offices behind mountains of paperwork and red tape, thinking they knew anything about _real_ evil. If Wolfram & Hart wanted anything to do with him, it would be as a lackey – and that was something he NEVER would be.

Angelus strode down the stairs quietly and placed himself just six feet or so from the men that had their backs turned against him. Thanks to his vampire enhanced senses he could decide whether his intended victims had heard him by concentrating and listening hard to their heart rates, and these men were clueless.

"Can I help you?" he said loudly. Immediately the four heartbeats raced and the men jumped. He was pretty sure one of them almost wet his pants. One of the men, a short Asian, collected himself and spoke.

"Angelus! Good day to you sir. What an honor."

"I should think so," he replied indifferently, unimpressed. "So – lawyers. Doesn't your kind sleep during the day?"

"I'm Gavin Park," the Asian said, ignoring his comment. "These are my associates, Mr. Hayes, Mr. Meyers and Mr. Fraser. We represent Wolfram and…"

"And already I'm bored," Angelus interrupted with a sigh.

"Let's move on directly to our errand, then," Gavin continued, putting his briefcase on the counter and opening it, seemingly unaware of the danger he was in. The ignorance annoyed Angelus. Oh well, he could change that… Buffy slid down the stairs soundlessly and stood next to him.

"The firm is interested in establishing a long-term contract with you. We feel that you, with the firm behind you, could accomplish great things, and we want to help you with that. I have a contract here, somewhere…" he flipped through his papers, finally finding what he was looking for. Angelus made a face.

"Tell me… Gavin. Why is it that Lilah and Lindsay didn't come themselves?"

"Excuse me?"

"Lilah and Lindsay. You know, co presidents of the Special Projects department. The big brains behind my liberation. I'm sure you know them." Angelus smiled. "Why do you think they sent lackeys, why didn't they come by themselves?"

"Well, uh, Ms. Morgan and Mr. McDonald are of course very busy…"

"Wrong," Angelus said coldly, taking a step closer. "Maybe you haven't been in the loop. I'm not the nasty little version of Angel that happily does dirty work for some law firm. I have this thing against having my strings yanked, and I _don't_ take grocery lists from messenger boys. If you had done your homework, you would have known that, when I get pushed? I push _back_. Exactly why do you think your bosses would let an incompetent loser like you meet with me, trying to make me a corporate puppet?"

Gavin stared blankly at him, unsure how to answer.

"I think he's too stupid," Buffy stated, cocking her head. "Should I tell him?"

"Go ahead." Angelus smirked in amusement and made an approving gesture.

"I think…" Buffy walked up to Gavin and fingered his tie, undoing it. "I think they sent you because they knew there was a 99.999 – ad infinitum percent chance that whoever came would be killed horribly. You know what?" Gavin shook his head, shit-scared by now. She looked up at him, pouty mouth, innocent eyes. "I think…" Buffy chuckled. "That they were right."

Angelus grabbed one of the other men. "So nice with a restaurant that delivers," he said as he switched into his game face. "And without extra charge!"

"What do we do now?" she asked in a bored voice when they had finished off the men. "Stuff and mount them?" she suggested in a light tone, seeming to take pleasure in the thought alone. Angelus looked at the four drained bodies on their lobby floor.

"As much as I would like lawyer heads as trophies on my walls, I think we need to send these people back to their _masters_," he mused.

He used their ties to hogtie the bodies together. He methodically ripped the contract to shreds, crumpled the pieces and stuffed their slack, dead mouths full of the paper. He grabbed a good hold of the tangled ties and hauled the four bodies outside, carefully avoiding the deadly sunbeams. The limousine driver stood at the gate and stared wide-eyed at him. Angelus smiled and waved at him.

"That outta teach them," he muttered.

"How do you think they'll react?" Buffy asked him.

"They're_lawyers_. This is a message they will understand." Settling for that answer, Buffy went on.

"So, what should we do today? Have you thought of something?"

"Mmmm. I have big plans for today," Angelus confirmed. "It's a surprise."

She made a disappointed sound, imitating a petulant child. "Ooh, no fair. At least tell me, will I like it?"

He smirked. "Oh, yeah."

-

* * *

-

It was afternoon when Willow woke up in Cordelia's apartment. It surprised her that she had been able to sleep soundly for almost five hours, but it was probably well needed rest. Who knew when a chance like that would appear again? Everyone seemed to have gotten some sleep.

Willow studied Faith, who was still asleep, curled up on the couch, her back facing out. The gash on her temple was closed and practically gone by now – it was a good thing their strongest fighter was a slayer. She swallowed. Not _a_ Slayer – _the_ Slayer it was, nowadays.

Willow tried to push those thoughts away. Therein laid big sadness. She felt incredibly lonely thinking about Buffy, how her friend wasn't only dead but how they were forced to face a ruthless demon wearing her face. They might never get her back and if not, they were going to have to kill that demon.

The_demon_. Thinking of Buffy like that sent cold shudders through her body. She hadn't met her yet, but odds were that she would sooner or later. What she could _imagine_ was bad enough. The face, the voice of her friend, the power of a Slayer and a vampire combined, ferociousness matching that of Angelus'. It was _bad. _Über sized bad.

What would happen? Would they succeed? Even if, what would Angelus and Buffy do before then? And what would they be like after? Angelus and Buffy were without human emotions now, without remorse or guilt. How would it be for them to _care_ again, after this ordeal?

Gunn had told her earlier, about the dead people they had found tracking them. They were racking up a horrible body count, and they had barely gotten started. Alone, Angelus was bad enough. More than bad enough – like, pants-a-wettin' and hide under the bed bad. But with Buffy at his side… The two of them together was a horrifying notion. No single person, even if it was a Slayer, would be enough to stop them both together. Even with backup it wouldn't be an easy fight. If only they could shift the advantage and get Angel back, things would look up.

Restoring Angel's soul. That reminded her; she had a phone call to make.


	41. MISTAKES

* * *

** CHAPTER 41: MISTAKES **

* * *

Angelus and Buffy entered Wolfram & Hart through a secret pass way that Angelus, or Angel more accurately, had found when he was the roaming the sewers on some occasion. The pass way took them from the sewer tunnel and straightly into a supply closet on the third floor… The floor where the Special Projects Division was conveniently situated.

Aware of the vampire detector that would alert security as soon as they stepped inside the building, they moved quickly and soundlessly through the corridors, searching for one specific office. It wasn't hard to find it; Nathan Reed's office was the biggest on the floor, located in the center, a flashy and overcompensating name plate on the door. Without hesitation, Angelus opened the door soundlessly and they slid inside.

Nathan was there, sitting in his chair with his back turned at the door. Thanks to the silence in the room Angelus could hear the sound of clamping feet moving quickly a couple of stairs down. They had been detected, so this would have to be a short visit A pity, he could think of nice patterns to be carved into Nathan's bald, shiny head.

"Mr. Reed."

The man jumped in his chair and spun around slowly to face Angelus and Buffy.

"What are… who are you?"

Angelus smirked.

"Aw, c'mon. That stings. Here I go to all this trouble and you're telling me you don't even know who I am? Well, then let me give you a hint; did your toadies arrive back safely?" Nathan blinked once, twice.

"Angelus," he acknowledged.

"There you go. Was that so hard?"

"W-what do you want?"

"Oh, what do I want? Hmm. Many things. The most recent; I wanna kill you." He smiled coldly. He heard the footsteps approaching; there wasn't time for a big scene here.

"Angelus, if you please. I'm sure we can talk about this, you see, this firm has great plans for you. We don't want to harm you; in fact I think you'll find that some of us here did play a key role in the event of your recent liberation. If you'd just listen to what we have to say…"

"Yeah, well, as far as plans go, I make my own, and being Wolfram & Harts puppet _isn't_ one of them. Thought the corpse-o-gram would have told you that in a language that you people can understand."

"But... I…ah… I…"

"We don't have anything else to discuss," Angelus dismissed, walking up to Nathan's desk, stalking closer to him.

"But wait!" he called out. "The Apocalyse!" Angelus stopped for a second, amused.

"The Apocalypse," he repeated. "Another one of those. Well, what about it?"

"The prophecies all agree," Nathan informed, "that when the final battle is waged, you have a key role to play. And, and that just leads me back to the matter my lawyers came over to discuss with you today. You're on our side, now. Our firm has always been here, in one form or another, and it always will be, right up until the end. We should be joining forces, not going around killing each other."

"Mmmhm," Angelus mused, seeming to think about it for a second, then snapped his head up to look at Nathan. "Well, there is just one problem. As far as Apocalypses go, I make my own of those to, so…still not interested." He leaned in closer. "I think this is where you get off."

The man tried to jump out of his seat but the vampire was ready for his futile escape attempt and smacked him back down in his chair, pushing it away towards the window.

Nathan swirled around the short distance from desk to window and never stood a chance of avoiding crashing through it, disappearing out into the harsh light of day, chair and all, falling to his certain death.

Avoiding the shattered window where the unhealthy sunlight streamed inside Angelus peeked out, watching the man hit the ground and the people in the street scatter, panicking and screaming their guts out and darting away in different directions like scared bunnies. Maybe more like scared chicken, what with the flailing arms and the terrified cackling. Well, that was effective.

"There is something about this that _never_ gets old," Angelus smiled, striding back across the room. Buffy looked annoyed, furrowing her brow and swatting him in the arm.

"What did you do that for? I wanted to _torture_ him. If you don't stop keeping me out of the loop everything, I'm gonna be _cranky_." She grabbed him by the collar and backed him up against the wall, slamming him hard, pushing her whole body against his. "You don't want me cranky," she growled, voice low and threatening. "Maybe your little crazy twiglet whore enjoyed being led around in a choke chain, but_ I'm_ NOT gonna take that."

"No time for this now, lover," he said, unfazed by her anger, pushing her away. "This was just business. The time for pleasure will come." Buffy was still offended because he had left her earlier in the day– he had gone on a meeting without her, and she didn't appreciate that. Well, in due time she would find out what it had been about and he KNEW she would be pleased. "The guards are here. Don't worry, you'll get to kill several of them to get out of this place."

In that very instant the door swung open and five guards armed with long sharp sticks entered the office.

"See?" he said. "Have fun."

-

* * *

- 

She waited in the shadows until there was big enough gap in the traffic. Peering out over the street, she lifted the stroller over the reeling and gave it a god push. Hoping that it wouldn't tip over too soon, she hurled the already dead mother over it.

Now, this was her idea of fun. She relished this creative killing. She_could_ have just hurled a couple of big rocks into the street; it would probably accomplish the same thing. But she had thought hard about what would make any driver step on their brakes with such panic that it would make them forget all about their own safety and the matter of all the other cars in the vicinity – what better than a mother and her infant child, lost and wandering aimlessly across the road? Rocks, not nearly as much fun.

Of course, neither the kid nor its mother was alive anymore, but nobody would know that. From a distance, and to a mortal eye, it would look like a mother driving her stroller right across the highway, which would create a lovely mess in the intense evening traffic. The only thing that could have made the scene more beautiful would have been to keep the mother alive for her to see when it happened, but it couldn't be helped. Corpses happened to be a lot more co-operative, and the hysterical woman _had_ been a good snack.

Had he been with her, he would have been proud of her, she knew that. She was happier now that he had shared his plans with her, and she couldn't wait to see how things would unfold.

She smiled and disappeared into the shadows to watch.

-

* * *

- 

Warren Mears was awoken from his light slumber by a distinct knocking on the door. With a groan he got up from the couch and peeked cautiously outside, making sure whoever was there couldn't see him. Not that he had seen her for a while now, not since he left Sunnydale anyway. He was pretty sure she wasn't following him anymore, but still. Being stalked by his robot girlfriend had made him suspicious.

And now he was making a living by selling black market magic stuff under radar. He glanced at the little wooden box sitting on the coffee table. What a life. But he needed the cash.

He couldn't see anybody out there. He had instructed the buyers of the crystal ball thing to meet with him during the evening and it was almost 7 pm, so it was probably them now.

He unlocked the door and swung it open. To his surprise, no one was there. Strange. He looked outside. There was a car parked on the road alright, so someone must have arrived. Where were they?

"Anyone there?" he called. No answer. He remembered what the girl he had spoken to on the phone had said about going outside after dark. She had given him a whole list of precautions actually, things to do and things not to do; in fact, she had seemed a bit nuts, like frantic. Crazy chicks. Wasn't like this orb thing was such a big deal, what had the dealer told him again? 'Spirit vault for rituals of the undead'. How exciting did that sound? He wasn't sure what that meant, and he was pretty sure the stupid broad didn't either. She was probably gonna use it for a love spell or something, like all of them. _Women_. Not like he cared though, as long as he was getting paid.

Given this, he hadn't really taken her warnings that seriously, but still… thinking back, remembering the eagerness in her voice, maybe it would be smartest of him to stay indoors tonight.

Warren turned his head when he heard his phone ringing from inside. When he turned it back to reach for the door, he stood face to face with a man.

Now, the girl had only given him a brief description of what he should avoid, and what he was facing right here looked pretty accurate to that description. And considering the warning, that probably meant that this was a vampire, and that he couldn't come inside without an invitation. Phew.

"W-what do you want?" Warren asked, careful not to step outside the threshold, his voice shaking just a little from the surprise. The man smiled coldly. "Yeah, don't you think about trying to come in, buddy," Warren continued cockily. "'Cause I ain't inviting you."

"Geez, don't you know how to spoil a surprise," the man muttered, pretending to be hurt, putting up a hand and resting it against the force field for emphasis. "It's kinda boring when they know," he continued in a dreary voice. Warren backed up a step.

"But!" the man continued in a lighter tone, clapping his hands together and making Warren jump, "at least it lets us get to the point right away. I'm not much for small talk anyway. Plus, this _is_ saving me from having to tell a really dull story about selling dictionaries, which I honestly didn't think would cut it anyhow. Now. Little birdie in my head told me you have a piece of gypsy craftsmanship stored here in this very house. I have a proposition for you. If you give it to me – I'll let you live."

Warren snorted. "Yeah, right. I don't think so, buddy. It's already been reserved. I'm getting good money for this."

"For which you can buy yourself a great funeral, I'm sure," the man continued. "_If_ they find enough of you to fill a casket, that is."

Warren crossed his arms over his chest. As long as he was in the safety of his house, the vampire couldn't do anything other than to taunt him. It might have scared someone else, but he _had_ been living inSunnydale after all. Weirdoes didn't freak him out easily.

"How would you like to be flayed," the man went on, menacing him. "Haven't had a good flaying in quite a while. You see, it's a win-win situation for me. You die – I enter and take the orb myself. You don't die, well, the only way that's gonna happen is if you give me the orb. You just take your pick." Warren smiled at him, mocking him.

"Nope." The man pulled something out of his pocket.

"Do you know what this is, hm?" He flipped the grenade from one hand to the other and Warren's smile faded. Okay, so _that_ was an uncomfortable twist.

"Give me the orb, or I'll throw it inside. You see, the invitation rule doesn't actually apply for me hurling things through the door."

He held the pin, ready to pull it out. Warren panicked, as most people would have under such a threat, and thoughtlessly he reached outside and grabbed the doorknob to slam the door shut.

Mistake.

That was all he needed. Angelus tossed the fake grenade aside and grabbed his arm, pulling him outside, away from the safety of the force barrier.

-

* * *

- 

"LA traffic at its best," Gunn sighed, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. The atmosphere in the car was already tense. Willow, Wesley and Faith were all crammed together in the seat of his truck, heading through the city – hopefully towards their salvation. Half of it, anyway.

The problem was, at the moment they weren't so much heading as standing practically still on the highway, moving forward inch by inch. The rest of the troops had stayed behind at Cordelia's apartment, guarding the perimeter and setting up everything they needed for the curse. Only lacking the key ingredient.

"Did you set up a specific time with the orb guy?" he asked Willow. "'Cause if so, maybe you oughtta call him and tell him we might be late." She glanced at her watch.

"It's almost seven. Maybe it would be best to give him a call. But I, I told him to stay put, you know, wait for us."

Faith was impatient. "This is just perfect. Why did it have to be jammed right here, right now?" she muttered, slamming her fist into the door on the passenger side.

Gunn side glanced at her.

"Hey, take it easy, right? We'll get there."

"Yeah, sometime, sure," Faith agreed. "But I got a bad feeling about this. "

"'Bout the traffic? Don't. Big city, lots of cars. These things happen all the time. Could be an accident or something."

The traffic wasn't actually the source of Faith's bad feeling, but she didn't say that. It was probably far fetched anyhow. She was being paranoid. They couldn't know – they _couldn't_. But one thing was for sure – the sun had set which meant that the city had turned into an unrestricted area for vamps. Buffy and Angelus could be anywhere.

"Look, up ahead", Gunn said. "Like I said. Accident." All four of them looked out the window at the accident scene ahead. Two lanes were completely blocked off. Faith could see three cars piled up. Stretchers were scattered across the site and the paramedics were still working with something in front of the first car.

"Looks like they might've hit something running across the road," Gunn commented. "Maybe a dog or some dude trying to run across. Happens sometimes."

Faith had a bad feeling, and it only grew stronger. She could see the rescue department pulling out the remains of a stroller from under the bumper of the first car. It was squashed, crushed by the incredible force, and it wasn't difficult to imagine what must have happened to the kid in it. She could see them lifting a seemingly dead woman from the ground, loading her onto a stretcher and covering her body.

But before they covered it, Faith saw something.

"Did you see that?" she asked. Wesley turned his head to look.

"What? No," Willow said. "What did you see?"

"That woman. She had a vampire bite on her neck." All of them looked, but naturally couldn't see anything anymore. The woman's body was covered, and they had headed almost all the way past the accident site.

"Are you sure?" Gunn asked, tension in his voice.

"Perhaps you're just seeing vampires around every corner," Wesley suggested. "It wouldn't be so strange given the circumstances."

"No, no, I'm sure," Faith said.

"And why am I thinking that, if you're right, it's not a coincidence that a thing like this would happen here and now," Gunn said bitterly.

"You're not thinking that…" Wesley trailed off. "But how could it be?"

No time to dwell on if, or why, or how. Faith gulped and looked at Gunn.

"You better step on it."


	42. LOSERS

* * *

**CHAPTER 42: LOSERS

* * *

**

Gunn was breaking all speed limits, the tires on his truck screeching when he turned into the street where the orb guy lived according to Willow's instructions.

Faith sat leaning out the window, eager and ready, looking intensely for the right house and ready to dart out of the car. She _might_ be wrong… she _hoped_ to be wrong.

"Here!" she exclaimed. Gunn stepped on the brakes and the car came to a screeching halt. Faith rushed out of the car, hurrying up to the front door, stopping for a second, waiting for the others. Wesley moved slowly, getting out of the car very cautiously, supported by the cane he used to get around with now, instead of the wheelchair. Gunn grabbed his axe from the back of the van and walked up next to Faith.

Maybe she was wrong, Faith repeated to herself, turning the doorknob tryingly.

Open. Her heart sank. Why would someone that had been told to be careful and stay inside leave their front door open? Still – it wasn't like the house was burnt to the ground or anything. If he _had_ stayed inside, no one could have hurt him. At least no one she had in mind. The door creaked when she swung it open.

Warren lay on his couch, hands neatly folded across his stomach. He could have just been sleeping – if only it wasn't for the fact that his eyes were open and his chest was awfully still and unmoving. There was a piece of chunky looking jewelry around his neck. Gunn looked grimly at the scene.

"No…" Wesley whispered, shaking his head. "No…" Faith walked up to the man, feeling for a pulse without expecting to find one. Pulled his eyelids closed. She picked up the jewelry, a sort of amulet looking thing and pulled it off of his neck.

"What's this? Guy doesn't exactly strike me as the accessories type, you know?" She handed the broken amulet over to Wesley who fingered it with a devastated look.

"This would be the amulet of Thesulah," he said solemnly. "The only known way to restore Buffy's soul. Last we knew it was in Angelus' possession, and, well, ah…" he faltered, not needing to finish the sentence.

Faith glanced around the room. She noted the empty round wooden box sitting on the coffee table. Her gaze was drawn to something on the floor. She moved to it and bent down. It was broken class, shattered so completely that the pieces were little more than dust. She took some in her hand and felt it with her fingers.

"Will," she said, the witch crouching down beside her, she too looking at the remnants of glass on the floor. "This is where you're telling me that I'm wrong about what I'm seeing here, right?" Faith demanded. "That this is just dust he forgot to sweep under the rug." Willow swallowed hard, looking worried, shaking her head in silence.

"What does this mean?" Gunn asked. "Except that we seem to be one step behind _again_. This it? No more orbs, no more Angel?" Faith felt empty, her mind blank. Had their best chance of ending this just been smashed against the floor?

Willow got up and started pacing around the living room. "There might still be a chance," she argued. Faith looked at her.

"You're not seriously suggesting that this can be glued back together?"

"No, that's not what I mean," Willow said, still pacing, looking around as if searching for something.

"Willow?" Wesley asked. "What are you…?" Willow frantically rummaged through the living room, pulling out drawers and looking through the bookcase. The others stood, at a loss, staring at her. After a few minutes she stopped, seeming to find what she was looking for. She turned to them, smiling, her face lit up with newborn hope. In her cupped hands, she held it firmly, protectively.

"The orb of Thesulah," she said, drawing a wary breath, as if fearing to do anything that could harm this insignificant looking crystal that could mean the difference between life and death for a lot of people.

"That's it?" Faith asked dubiously. Then what is this?" she said, bewildered, indicating the dust on the floor.

"Orb of Ramjerin," Willow supplied. Gunn and Wesley nodded in recognition, Wesley smiling.

"Of course. The orb of Ramjerin looks similar to the orb of Thesulah, but they're a lot easier to come by. And are, as most ancient conjuring orbs, also notoriously fragile."

"We used one to raise a Thesulac demon in the hotel last year," Gunn filled in.

Faith frowned. "So you told him to switch'em?" Off of Willows nod, she continued. "How did you think of that?" She shrugged.

"Well, I don't know. Backup, I guess. I mean, _if_…" she trailed off. "If he… they… and, and I guess I was right." She looked somberly at the dead man on the couch. "But I didn't know that he… that _this_ would happen."

"None of us did," Wesley said quietly. "But there is nothing more that we can do here. The sooner we get back to Cordelia's flat, the sooner we can end this, once and for all."

-

* * *

-

With everyone in a hopeful mood, the ride back through the city seemed like a breeze. Willow had called Giles and told him that they were on their way back with the orb, making sure that they had everything set up and ready for the curse. When they arrived back Xander and Giles stood near the street, waiting for them – waiting with weapons, for safety. Giles kept the tranquilizer gun firmly in his hand. Gunn and Faith grabbed axe and crossbow respectively from the back of the truck.

Willow cradled the precious wooden box to her chest when she stepped out of the car and together all six of them headed towards Cordelia's apartment building. Before they had made it all the way to the door, drawing near a large shrubbery between the houses, Faith stopped in her tracks, holding up a hand, indicating for all of them to stop. They all waited, listened hard and staring into the darkness.

"What is it?" Wesley whispered.

"Company," Faith said, raising the crossbow. "Be ready."

A moment later, a vampire emerged from the bushes. In game face, the creature was snarling at them, fearlessly walking straight towards the armed Slayer. Not really in the "ask first, stake later" mood, Faith wasted no time with pleasantries before she fired the crossbow. The arrow hit its mark perfectly, plunging into the heart of the vampire that growled before he exploded into a cloud of dust.

"Okay, that was strange," Xander said. "Wasn't that strange? One vampire all by his lonesome, here and now? Why?"

"Not just one," Faith said grimly, reloading the crossbow. Before she could say anything else they all saw a lot more vampires emerging from the shadows, they quickly counted at least eight or ten – surrounding them. The vampires were in a holding pattern. They were clearly waiting for a signal.

Not before long, Angelus and Buffy turned up seemingly out of nowhere, standing a short distance from the entrance of Cordelia's building. The distance between them and the group couldn't be more than 30 feet.

"How nice," Faith said, taking a few steps closer. "What is this, family reunion? Maybe we're interrupting something here."

"These are henchmen," Angelus provided smugly. "Henchmen – meet the goodies. Goodies – meet the henchmen. Well, okay – hench_vamps_, but there's no reason to be specie-ist here."

"Oh. And here I thought you hade some class, at least getting down in the dirt doing the hard work by yourself. Advancing age getting to you?" Faith tried to stall, trying to figure out their next move. Getting past the vamps was the only way into that building. She wasn't dumber than realizing that Angelus' and Buffy's reason for bringing company for this. Whatever they had come for, bringing this much in the way of disposable back ups dramatically decreased the risk of either of them getting injured or taking a tranquilizer dart. Even if these vamps were only street trash, they were still supernaturally strong demons and they wouldn't all be killed off easily. They were outnumbered and just one slipup could mean that some of them god killed.

Angelus chuckled.

"Oh, you know me, I'm a generous and sharing kind of a guy. And you'd be surprised how many vampires start to follow you around when you tell them that you can show them to a nice tap of Slayer's blood, hot and straight from the vein. What do you say, boys? She's all yours."

Having gotten the signal they waited for, the vampires wasted no more time standing around before attacking. Faith fired her crossbow again, instantly killing another one. Knowing the uselessness of that particular weapon in close up combat, she had to toss it aside when she was tackled by three vampires at once, all of them trying to push her to the ground.

Gunn stood protectively between the vamps and Wesley, who was still much too weak for a fight like this. Swinging his axe he killed two of them in one strike. Xander produced a stake from his pocket, going around Faith's attackers and killing on of them by staking it from behind.

Willow kept clutching the box, knowing the importance of the object within. She couldn't take her eyes off Buffy, this demonic twisted version of her best friend, having an eerie flashback to when they had all met _her_ vampiric persona. The sound of Buffy's kind, reassuring voice kept repeating over and over in her head. _'Willow, just remember, a vampire's personality has nothing to do with the person it was.' _ Angel had wanted to say something to contradict that statement, she remembered, but he never got the chance to. Being the only vampire in the group, Willow guessed that he was probably the one to listen to on the subject. Right now she wasn't sure if she should be happy or not that she never got to hear what he had to say.

Giles watched Buffy and Angelus stalk closer to the fight scene, saw Buffy slipping closer to Xander and he raised the tranq gun. Of course she had already seen him and stepped in behind Xander, not giving him a good target. Before Xander could react she had grabbed him from behind, pulling him up close, clutching his throat hard and twisting the stake out of his hand, tossing it into the bushes.

"Buffy," Giles said, very calmly, as if talking to a feral animal. "Don't do anything rash, please."

"Shut up, Jeeves," she snapped. "It's time you stopped fooling yourself by thinking that you can make a difference. After all, you couldn't even save me. What makes you think you would be able to protect Xander any better?" she spat at him, and judging by Giles' look, her words definitely hit the mark.

Together Faith and Gunn finished off the last of the vamp lackeys, finding themselves standing face to face with Angelus who had used the opportunity when they were otherwise occupied to creep closer to them. Axe raised, Gunn backed up in the direction Angelus was coming from, inch by inch moving closer to the door, keeping Willow and Wesley behind his back.

"Will," Faith said, not taking her eyes off Angelus, moving sideways as they started to circle each other. "Get inside. Go. _Now_." This particular statement catching his attention, Angelus let his gaze drift to the box Willow clutched so eagerly. It didn't take more than a moment for him to connect the dots but before he could act on his realization, Faith attacked him viciously, giving the others a chance to escape. The Slayer and the vampire fought frantically, dirty – almost desperately, both of them knowing how much was on the line. Angelus got an opening, caught Faith with a severe uppercut to the jaw, making her head snap back. Before she recovered he kicked her legs out from under her, sending her to the ground, and went to pursue Willow.

"Hurry, inside!" Gunn yelled, axe raised, running to cut off Angelus' path. Stopping for only a split second, Angelus kicked him squarely in the chest and Gunn lost his breath, unable to fight back when he gasped desperately for air. Angelus yanked the axe from his hands and hit him over the head with the handle, sending him dazed to the ground. Discarding the axe, he lunged towards Willow again.

She heard him come, and knowing that she had to do something if she wanted to walk through that door alive, she quickly handed the wooden box over to Wesley, ignoring his bewildered look, taking a step in Angelus direction and pulling something out of her pocket. He wasn't more than a few feet away from reaching her now, and she knew that if he did, he would probably make the ending quick, given the circumstances. But he never got that far. She held up her hand and, with a light puff, blew some colored dust on him.

"Discede!" she called out, and Angelus froze.

"What the hell did you-" Willow clapped her hands together, activating the spell, and Angelus suddenly disintegrated into thin air and disappeared. Willow swayed on her feet and Gunn came to her aid, supporting her before she fell.

"What did you do to him?" he asked.

"Teleportation spell," she said weakly, out of breath. "Nifty little trick. Pretty heavy stuff. Still working out the kinks." Gunn frowned, shaking his head in incredulously.

"Teleportation," he repeated. "So where did you send him?"

"That would be one of the kinks."

Not more than maybe a hundred yards away or so, but also about a hundred yards up into the air Angelus started to materialize. Not knowing what to think, considering that he had never been teleported away from a fight before, he looked around.

"Oh hell."

The fall didn't harm him much, but it gave Willow and Wesley the extra seconds they needed to get to the safety inside. Gunn, who was on his feet again stayed outside, moving closer to Buffy who was still holding Xander. Furiously making his way back to the others, realizing that the battle might be lost, Angelus yelled to Buffy before once again being charged by Faith.

"Do it!"

Buffy smiled cruelly and spun Xander around so that he faced her. She laughed as she used her sharp thumbnail and plunged her thumb into Xander's left eye, gouging it out. Xander screamed in horrible, gut wrenching agony. Despite not having a clear shot, Giles fired a dart in her direction in panic but missed barely.

Licking off her thumb and laughing at their stupid blank faces Buffy was just about to gauge out the other eye when something attacked her from above, resolutely slamming her to the ground and making Xander swirl out of her grasp, collapsing to the ground. She leapt back to her feet growling, seething with anger and whipped around to face her attacker, who must have jumped her from the roof. In the corner of her eye she could see Gunn and Giles tending to Xander, carrying him away, but he wasn't important anymore.

"Come on, Goldilocks," her attacker taunted, grinning at her. "Good brawl for old time's sake, what do you say?"

"I say this time you'll end up as a lawn fertilizer, Spike," she hissed before she hit him hard over the head.

Going for a vicious head-on attack Faith lashed out at Angelus, hitting him squarely in the face. He blocked her second blow and kicked her in the knee when she came at him with a roundhouse kick.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk Faithy," he mocked. "Anger clouds the mind, prevents focus. Makes for a poor tactician. But then again, you never were much of a thinker, were you?"

He flipped her over his shoulder, but she landed on her feet. She kicked him and he responded by striking her viciously over the temple. She staggered to the side, dazed and her ears ringing from the hard blow, trying to regain her footing.

"This is disappointing," he commented, kicking her and making her stumble backwards. "You obviously haven't stayed in shape during your self flagellating downtime, have you? 'Cause I remember this as being more fun." Blocking her punch he kneed her in the stomach and hit her over the back which made her fall to the ground, flat on her face.

Buffy grabbed Spike by the shoulders and threw him back with full force, landing him on a small decorative picket fence which went right through his torso; impaling him but not killing him. Groaning and spitting blood, Spike was rendered harmless for the time being. Ready to assist Angelus in taking out Faith Buffy knocked Giles to the ground without breaking stride on the way. Faith was just getting to her feet, glaring defiantly at the two vampire's, willing and ready to take both of them on despite the odds not really being in her favor.

Buffy charged at her, giving her two swift kicks to the gut and chest, grabbing her arms as she flipped over her, using her grip on Faith to throw her to the ground, landing her hard on her back. Before Faith could collect herself Buffy stomped her in the gut, leaning down, forcing her firmly to the ground with a knee in her chest.

"You've always been so eager to put your greedy little hands on my boyfriends," Buffy leaned in closer, whispering heatedly in her ear. "What do say about a threesome?" She let out a short, hard laugh. "Can't guarantee you'll live through it, in fact, you probably won't, but the dead girl thing always seemed to attract you."

"You know what, B," Faith shot back in a strained voice, "somehow that just seems really ironic coming from you now." Buffy sneered at her with satisfaction, getting off her and pulling her up, Angelus moving up behind Faith, who couldn't break free from their grip. Seeing that Faith was in a serious clinch, Gunn came at them from the side, managing to surprise Angelus, breaking him off of Faith. Gasping, as if struck badly, he collapsed to his knees, moaning in pain.

"What's wrong with you?" Buffy asked, annoyed at first, the irritation turning to horror when she realized what was about to happen.

"No…" she shook her head. "NO!"

Faith took the opportunity when she had her focus turned away from her, to break free from Buffy, kicking her away.

"Tranq gun!" she yelled in Gunn's direction, and Buffy realized that she needed to make a hasty exit. There was nothing more she could do here, and her lover was on the ground, defeated, the sickening soul once again infiltrating every ounce of his being, poisoning his mind, corrupting his unbeating heart. She felt no compassion for him as she wasn't capable of it anymore – but she did feel rage towards the people responsible for his undoing.

This wouldn't go unpunished. The time for revenge would come.


	43. GETTING BACK, GOING FORWARD

A/N: I want to thank those of you who have reviewed so far. Please, keep them coming! It's worth a lot.

* * *

**CHAPTER 43: GETTING BACK, GOING FORWARD **

* * *

Just minutes ago, the green patch outside Cordelia's apartment building had been a war zone – fighting, kicking, punching, stabbing, blood flowing… And at the same moment the orb of Thesulah glowed bright and disappeared, it had all changed. Faith was probably lucky that it was a Saturday night in LA or else someone surely would have called the cops after hearing the sounds of the fight. But around these parts, people were pretty inclined to look the other way, pulling their curtains closed and turning up their television sets.

The others, Willow, Wesley, Anya and Cordelia had joined them outside after making sure that it was safe. Anya was sitting at Xander's side, devastated, comforting him as they waited for the ambulance. Willow sat with them as well. The few words she said to him were shaky, uncertain, and every now and then she turned away to brush away tears that welled up in her eyes. She was trying to keep a brave face, not wanting him to see it. Faith and Gunn cleared out the weapons not to raise suspicions on any part. Spike sat on a bench a small distance away, busying himself with picking wooden splinters out of the wounds in his gut.

He saw it all, but he said nothing, neither spoke nor moved. He sat there, slumped on his knees, the horrible memories of the past several days washing back over him, like a raging river of holy water washing over him, scorching him inside and out.

Cordelia stared at him, watched him, arms crossed over her chest. Giles picked up the crossbow that Faith had thrown on the lawn before, casually at first, but his stance stiffened when he met Angel's gaze for a moment, the crossbow unintentionally aimed in his general direction. Giles looked calm, but there was fire in his eyes. Hatred. Disgust. He fingered the crossbow, not actually threatening him with it, just letting the small gesture speak for itself, telling Angel that the thought had crossed his mind.

'Bring it on', a voice somewhere within him whispered. 'Let him kill you once and for all'. It must be his inner coward talking. It had a tendency of doing that in sour situations. It was a shame that the world wouldn't open up and swallow you when you most wanted it to. Right now, getting sent to Acathla's fiery hell dimension for a hundred years felt like it would have been a breeze. The fire and brimstone thing he could handle, but facing those he had wronged?

The moment was passed when Giles walked away, handing the crossbow back to Faith who dumped it in Gunn's truck.

"Angel?" Cordelia said. Her voice wasn't kind. She was tense and upset, and she made no effort of hiding it. He knew he would eventually have to force himself out of the catatonia and pick himself up. He looked at her and got up, but he didn't say anything. What _could_ he say? To offer these people just a simple 'sorry' would be like a slap in the face.

"Angel," she repeated.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking down on the ground, ashamed not only for what he had done but also for not being able to think of anything else to say. Something meaningful that actually meant something to people who had been hurt like they had been hurt. But what else was there?

"Really? Are you?" she demanded unyieldingly. He looked back up at her, confused.

"Of course."

"'Cause I'm not just talking about the soulless-y goodness here. I know you're sorry about that. You always are. But did it ever occur to you that maybe none of this would have happened if you hadn't roamed around like some psycho case for months, playing judge, jury and executioner? You can't blame _that_ on the alter ego, you know."

Angel looked at her again, and then looked back down, having no idea what to say. Cordelia shook her head in disappointment.

"You know, believe it or not, but I actually do realize that this isn't the right time or place for this discussion. Or rather monologue, consider how much you _don't_ have to say for yourself. I had hoped that you'd offer some explanation, just, you know – _anything_, but who am I kidding here. You only master the gift of the gab when you're all evil and can hurt people with your words, right? But, know this, broody boy. You can forget about skulking off into the shadows somewhere and wallow in your own self pity, 'cause you have a responsibility here, you know. She who makes your heart go all pitter patter is still out there, and as far as we know, could be busying herself with digging up yet another hell sucking demon or something, who knows? Chowing down on the populace at the very least. We need you with us to stop her."

Angel nodded slowly, looking at her as if to finally say something, but she didn't let him get that far. She took a few steps closer to him and gave him a long, cold – and hurt – look before speaking again.

"But, just so we're clear – you and I? We're not friends." She stared at him for another moment, waiting for the words to sink in and then left without another word, turning around and walking back inside.

Wesley stood uncomfortably, fingering his cane, unsure what to say to end the pregnant silence. He stared in the direction where Cordelia had disappeared. Cordelia had never been particularly tactful, but that was unnecessarily harsh. Some discussions were just best saved for later. Angel's suffering wasn't in question here. He knew the vampire well enough to know that Angel's own knowledge of what he had done was more than enough punishment for him.

"She… we… well, ah. These last few days… well, months really, has been… an ordeal. For all of us," he finally offered lamely as a rationalization of what Cordelia had just told him.

Angel gave a simple nod. Wesley owed him no explanations, neither did Cordelia. They were entitled to their feelings right now.

"Come inside anytime you feel like it," Wesley said, in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. Angel nodded. As soon as Wesley had gone inside, Faith stopped fiddling with the weapons in the back of Gunn's truck and walked over to him.

"So, how… uh…" he began, not sure how she would act around him.

"I'm fine," she said, quirking a grin. "All's fine on this end," she continued, and he recognized the bigger meaning of her words.

"Thank you," he said silently. "I'm glad." He could hear sirens from a distance, and they started walking to get inside, seeing how it would probably be best if Faith avoided being spotted in public as much as possible.

"So how about you?" she asked finally. "This the part where you switch back to moping mode?"

He sighed. "Well, I have a lot to think about."

"Well, yeah," she agreed. "I mean, just a few days of knowing your inner psycho? Not that hard to imagine what 150 years worth of _that_ would be like. I figure you have stuff to brood about for an eternity. At least."

"Yeah." He looked at her. "I have a lot to thank you for. For coming… you know, for helping. I know it must have been, um… hard for you."

"I just figured it was about time I started giving a little back, you know, what with my own track record and all. Taking, giving, it's a whole thing. Consider it a part of my road to redemption package."

"Right," he nodded and she furrowed her brow, continuing more seriously.

"But B is still out there, and what I figure is that things could get ugly…er. What do you say, are we fighting shoulder to shoulder?"

He nodded. "If you're up for it."

-

* * *

-

"Cor! Can we come in?" they heard Faith's voice from the door. Trying to be smooth, Cordelia realized, asking the question so that Angel wouldn't have to.

"Yeah, come in," Cordelia answered flatly. Faith and Angel soon joined them in the living room. Faith sat down in an empty chair while Angel remained standing, leaning against the doorframe. The silence was tangible. Anya had gone with Xander in the ambulance and Spike was nowhere to be seen. Angel studied the rest of them. Gunn had taken a seat next to Giles on the couch. Willow and Wesley sat at the table, which was completely covered by books and papers containing notes and scribbling. He could still clearly smell the herbs they had used while performing the curse. Not like he would ever forget that scent. First time he had smelled it was being driven into the camp of the Kalderash clan one hundred and three years ago.

It was finally Gunn who broke the uncomfortable silence. "Look, I don't know what ya'll think, but shouldn't we maybe discuss what to do about Miss super-vamp out there?" he suggested. He looked directly at Angel, his gaze not exactly unfriendly, but urgent. There was no mistaking that he expected a response.

"Um… I figured I'll go back to the hotel, uh, get cleaned up. Then I'll patrol the rest of the night. I don't think she'll come here again tonight, but…"

"Nah, why should she," Gunn shot back, "there's a city of millions out there, the girl can do whatever she feels like. Take anybody, kill anybody. Like shooting fish in a barrel, really." Angel winced at the harsh truthfulness of Gunn's words.

"Yeah," he said, his voice not more than a whisper.

"So what do we do, Angel?" Willow asked, looking at him.

"Personally, I suggest staking," Cordelia said tactlessly before he could answer. They all looked at her. "What? Is the suggestion an affront to your holier-than-thou Buffy? Well I've got news for you, people – she's dead. Sadistic Monster Bitch out there is all that's left. Not like I'm being a hypocrite here. I promised once that I'd kill Angel if he ever got there again."

"But we didn't," Willow said abruptly, her voice urgent, on the verge of upset and harsh. The thought of killing off Buffy was too much to bear right now.

"No, and the only reason why would be because we know how to restore his soul. With Buffy, we don't. And if nobody here happens to be on good foot with those gypsy-folks, I don't really think we have the option of dragging a bunch of them here so that they'll shove a soul down her throat." She paused for a second. "Am I wrong?"

"If we only had the amulet," Giles said, shooting Angel a dark look.

"Yeah," he said. "But we don't. I don't know… We'll just have to look for another soul spell of some kind," he went on, not wanting to consider the other alternative right now. The final, albeit one might argue the most merciful alternative.

"Easy for you to say," Giles scoffed, the edge in his voice harsher than he had intended.

"Easy." Angel swallowed. "You really think this is _easy_ for me?" Giles turned to him, the fire burning in his eyes again.

"Alright, um, yes," Wesley interrupted hastily, trying to smother the fire before it had time to spread. "Nothing good will come out of throwing the blame around. If we wanted to do that, we might as well argue that Cordelia, Gunn and I share some of the blame for all of this. Buffy was at peace. It was we who pulled her back into this reality. We'll just have to keep looking for a solution."

"Yeah, but I've been one the look-out for a working soul spell that doesn't have any clauses or side effects for three years now," Willow said, discouraged. "Ever since the first time Angel…" she trailed off. "There's just not much in the way of good news."

"Which is why I said 'we', Angel retorted, suddenly very weary. "All of us, use books, the computer, contacts – _everything_. Something'll turn up. Something _has to_ turn up."

"Yeah," Willow replied, voice small. "It's… its' _Buffy_. It's about saving Buffy."

'Saving her', Angel thought sadly, as if the return of her soul would constitute as salvage of any rate. Buffy had a hero's soul, a good and pure heart. The memories, the guilt, the horrible vivid images of everything she had done without her soul – he was afraid of what it might do to her.

It could be argued that their unwillingness to just kill her, releasing her and finally putting her to rest, was selfish more than anything else. They weren't prepared to deal with her utter and final death and therefore willing to put her through the horrible anguish it would mean for her to be re-ensouled now instead. It wasn't right… but just like Willow said… it was _Buffy_. And who was _he_ of all people to argue against it, really?

"But we can't forget about super girl herself in the meantime, can we? Dunno about you, but I'm bettin' sooner or later she will turn up again with some new honkin' evil scheme," Gunn said.

"Well, at least we only have Buffy to worry about," Willow said silently.

"Yeah, something in our favor," Gunn muttered.

"Don't kid yourselves," Angel said sharply, scanning the group. "Buffy is very strong. She was a great Slayer, and now, that makes her a first-class killer. She already has the experience and the strength since she was human and she'll use it anyway she can." When nobody responded, he was forced to continue.

"The way I see it, the only thing in our favor is that she is very young. That means she'll be more vulnerable than if she was centuries old, but it's not a lot to go on; she'll still be among the strongest vampires any one of us has ever faced. The _bad_ news is that… well, she has an obsession," he said evasively, hoping that they would get it without him spelling it out for them that Buffy would probably be trying to torment him the same way that he had tormented her, by going after everyone close to him. "And… and she has you guys. Friends. Buffy loved you. And that… well, that means her demon will hate you for it." He knew that it was hard for them to hear, he could see it painfully obvious on their faces.

"So where should we begin?" Willow asked in a small voice.

"We can't give her any openings. Play it safe. Like I said, I'll patrol and keep an eye on her. If we can come up with a plan to capture her, great, but no random attacks like you… like you tried before. We can't risk anybody getting hurt." Anybody _else_, he added in thought.

"You stay here, all of you," he said after a minute of silence. "I'm gonna go back to the hotel and… change. Get cleaned up. I'll be back before sunrise."

"And what if you run into Miss Killalot?" Cordelia asked frankly.

"I'll be fine," he replied dismissively.

"Yeah, well, don't be too fine," Cordelia muttered. He didn't answer. She had every right to be upset with him, he repeated to himself. And he could see that she wasn't just being snippy for the sake of it – she was hurting. He couldn't blame her. What she had said before was true. If he hadn't cut himself off after Buffy's death, if he hadn't betrayed their friendship and buried himself in his own despair, maybe things would have worked out differently. Better.

And no matter how bad he felt now, no matter how much he wanted to crawl away and hide under his rock, he knew that he couldn't do that. These people being here instead of in their own homes, going on with their own lives, their injuries, Faith escaping from prison, Buffy loose and killing, it was all on him. He was responsible for it, and if he didn't try his best to make up for some of it, then what good did his soul do him anyway? If they hated him enough not to ever want to look upon him again, they could have killed him. But he was here now, and he was re-cursed for a reason.

Somehow he had to help them make some of this right again. One way or the other.


	44. DAYS THAT MADE HIM OLDER

* * *

** CHAPTER 44: DAYS THAT MADE HIM OLDER **

* * *

A few hours later Angel exited the hotel, heading out into the city, knowing that he would only find her if she wanted to be found. This wasn't exactly Sunnydale. This was a huge, vast city with millions of people and if she wanted to stay out of his way, stay hidden even, it wouldn't be difficult for her. But then again, he very much doubted that she _would_ want to stay hidden.

He had thought about inviting everybody over to the hotel, instead of them all cramming together in Cordelia's apartment, but as it was, there was no way of keeping Buffy out of it. There would be no way of protecting everyone. But maybe there was something they could do about that. Even if it was a while back now, he remembered that he host of Caritas, Lorne, had a sanctuary spell set up in his club. No demon violence, as he recalled, and he knew that it was set up by the transuding furies... Maybe they could look into it.

As soon as she was close to him, he could sense her. It wasn't surprising. Even as a human, he had always known when she was close and now, being one of whom he had sired, she was bound even stronger to him. She followed him for minutes without making a move, just watching. He almost considered ignoring her, let her have her fun stalking him, it was harmless and at least he knew that she couldn't do any damage elsewhere if she followed him around. However, that obviously wasn't what she had in mind. Soon she stepped out of the shadows.

"Hello,_lover_," she said with a sneer that was so much like his own, it was almost laughable. Well, laughable in the really tragic way. When he looked upon her – his childe, the soulless shell of his true love, his girl, he knew would have to struggle to be able to play this one with distance. If he let himself feel what his soul told him to feel, if he let himself be caught in its claws and get pulled down, drowning in the guilt, anguish and grief, he wouldn't be able to fight her. And he couldn't let himself fail her like that.

"This feels interestingly familiar," Angel said dully. Buffy frowned at him.

"Yeah, well, this time it's YOU who's the simpering and good one," she said with a sickened look on her face. He knew that look, and he knew she what she felt towards him – she was appalled. Just as Darla had been the first time he got his soul restored. Just as _he_ had been without his soul, the foul memories of how human and alive he had felt being with her perverting his mind. The only advantage he could claim in this was that he knew everything about what she was and how she felt. She, his enemy in this, was a reflection of himself and his demon. To defeat her, he would have to defeat himself.

"People change," he replied softly, looking deeply into her eyes. Once so full of life and emotion, her green orbs were now empty, hard and lifeless.

"That's sweet. Aren't you just the pathetic embodiment of that?" Buffy hissed. Angel sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets, indicating that he wasn't going to fight her unless he had to. He went right past her and headed towards the street walking. She followed him closely.

"Hey! You don't just kill me and walk away." He glanced at her for a second, studying her pale face, her hard, searching eyes. She was looking for some kind of reaction.

"What do you want, Buffy?"

"Well, I've been thinking," she said in a low voice, following him, "about which one of your little friends I should kill first. So I thought, maybe Cordelia. "Yeah, 'cause the two of you have just become the best of buds since you moved here, haven't you? Maybe you're even _screwing_ with her." She let out a short, hard laugh. "Well, obviously she couldn't be as good as _me_ seeing how she hasn't managed to flip the switch, but I guess, when you can't get the real deal _any_ substitute would do really."

"Well, if that's how you feel, then I guess I finally got my explanation for Riley," he shot back darkly, instantly biting his tongue for being so easily provoked. She jerked her head, just for a second taken aback by his sharp response, but she quickly covered.

"Ooh, owie! Was that a sore spot?" she giggled. "You know, I'm glad you're close to her. It only means you'll _feel_ stronger when you find her with her neck broken. 'Cause that's really all you're good for now, isn't it? Feeling… whining… sobbing over what a _bad boy _ you've been."

Angel tried to ignore her. He wouldn't let her hurt Cordelia – and he knew what she was doing now was just toying with him, trying to throw him off balance. He couldn't imagine that even she thought that it would work. After all, he mastered the art. He had done it himself thousands of times. When Buffy didn't get the reaction she was aiming for, she continued.

"Then again, maybe I should go with Willow first. Little skank is kinda annoying, actually. Such an innocent, sweet, helpless little girl." She got up even closer and whispered in his ear. "You know everything about robbing sweet little girls of their innocence, don't you."

Angel chuckled, suddenly amused, remembering his recent teleportation experience. "Willow might have been helpless a few years ago, but I think you would make a big mistake by thinking that she still is," he said. Buffy ignored it.

"Then I was thinking, what would hurt you the most? Mmm? Finding all your friends dead in a pile or plucking them off one by one? You know…"

"Shut up, Buffy," Angel interrupted tiredly.

"Why?" she retorted, spurred on by the slight hint of annoyance in his voice. Every sign that she might be finding a crack in his armor, that she was getting to him even just a little bit impelled her to push harder.

"You didn't. You tortured the living hell out of sweet innocent little me, and you killed my teacher and my friends and my family… And then you killed _me_. High marks for the hero, don't you think?" she mocked. "Maybe they'll even get you a medal. When I'm done, you'll _beg_ me to get rid of that pesky soul once and for all."

"Honey? You talk too much," he sighed, not looking at her.

"Oh, I'm gonna do a lot more than just talk. You wait and see."

"Mmm, right. Buffy, wake up," he said, tiring of her games. "You really think you're getting anywhere with this? Coming on strong with the big threats and trying to kill my friends? You're an amateur at this, Buffy. You're not gonna win, not like this." After a beat of silence she grinned wickedly.

"That a challenge?" Without warning she lunged forward, attacking him viciously. Reacting instantly he blocked her first blow and deflected the power her kicks. When he lashed out at her to defend himself she laughed darkly, relishing her new powers, flipping through the air and landing smoothly on her feet behind him. Before he could react she managed to kick him to he ground, instantly pinning him, laughing cruelly as he strained to get loose.

"Don't move pretty," she hissed in his ear. "That sentimental side of yours really a problem, isn't it? You fight with your _heart_. Well, that gives me an advantage, 'cause I no longer have one. I could kill you where you lay, but I won't, nuh-uh. First I'm going to kill your _soul_, your precious soul ... just like you killed mine. See you soon, my _sweet_."

With that she released him, backing away, not letting her eyes off him as he got to his feet. Jumping up on a dumpster and using it to leap a nearby rooftop she disappeared back into the night. He remained standing where he was, discouraged. She was right – he _was_ fighting with his heart, something he couldn't afford when dealing with her.

He pondered whether he should follow her. Letting her breeze back into the city, knowing what damage she could – would – do felt horribly wrong, but the truth was that he probably wouldn't manage to take her down anyway, not like this. He carried neither manacles nor tranquilizers and Buffy wasn't just any vampire. She had the moves, the experience, the strength to be one of the best, and she had the advantage of having been his apprentice.

He looked at the sky. The sun would be up soon, he had better get back to Cordelia's apartment. At least the approaching daylight meant that Buffy would be forced to take shelter inside as well.

-

* * *

-

During the blessed hours when the sun was high on the sky and made sure Buffy was just as incapacitated and indoor-bound as Angel and Spike, they all tried their best to fit under the same roof and rest and research at the same time. For an hour, Willow was on the phone with Lorne, getting the details on how to make the Hyperion a demon violence free zone. If they could figure out how the spell worked and that it would be functional in the entire hotel, they would be moving there as soon as possible. Angel needed the sewer access to be able to get around more effectively in the daytime and considering the tension within the walls of the small apartment, the extra space would to a lot of good, or it wouldn't be long until they started ripping out each other's throats.

In the early afternoon Willow went to visit Xander in the hospital and bring Anya back with her. Xander himself was stable and fine considering, albeit one-eyed, but he would have to stay another day for observation – apparently there was concern of the savaged eye socket developing an infection even though Xander was on strong antibiotics. Faith was already at the hospital, had been since dawn, standing guard outside Xander's room, as they had no idea where Buffy was or when and where she would make her first move.

At sunset, it was time for Angel and Spike to start moving. Gunn had switched places with Faith at the hospital, taking the next shift. Angel planned to patrol, check out the places he thought Buffy was likely to visit and simply follow his feeling, while Spike was going to a few less sophisticated demon bars and try to get some information.

He had promptly refused as first, of course, but when Angel had reminded him that he would get to beat the crap out of several demons to get them to talk and that there could possibly be free drinks involved, he had reluctantly agreed. "Just because he wanted to" of course – Angel was beginning to think that Spike was really a petulant twelve-year-old in disguise, that he didn't even consider anything he said, just disagreeing with him on principle. If Angel said no, Spike said yes, if Angel said do, Spike said don't. If Angel said black, Spike said white – as in a sickly, bleached kind of white…

Angel went to his Plymouth and Spike took off walking since Giles had promptly refused to lend Spike his car, referring to an incident last year when Spike had apparently driven his old car all the way into the scrap heap.

Angel didn't have the details on that event even if it had been mentioned before – but he had seen how Spike usually drove, and he could imagine the rest. Somehow he a the feeling that the large "Welcome to Sunnydale"-sign being bumped and knocked over both of the times Spike had come to town when he lived there just wasn't a coincidence.

Angel watched Spike as he sauntered down the road and saw that he stopped and broke into a car in which he soon took off at a high speed. He silently shook his head. Then again, who was he to judge. This last year he had done a lot more damage than Spike, who seemed almost harmless these days, even though he could imagine what the younger vampire would have to say about such a statement. Most of it could be ascribed to his chip, Angel supposed, but it still didn't explain why had had been so willing to help Buffy's friends out, following them to LA, even fighting by their side. No, that could probably be assigned to his obvious feelings for Buffy, Angel thought darkly.

As soon as he opened his car door the smell of blood hit him. It wasn't human, but it was fresh. He looked in to the car to decide where the scent came from, and he immediately found the source. A kitten had been stapled to the steering wheel, its throat had been savagely ripped out and there was a piece of paper attached to it. There was an address scribbled down on it. It would take him about fifteen or twenty minutes to get there.

Angel sighed and threw the note to the side. He released the dead kitten from the steering wheel and got in the car. At least her little gag gift had left him with a clue of where to look for her.

Angel drove with the top down; making sure nothing – or nobody – could surprise him whilst driving. Stopping the car at the given address he found himself outside an ice rink, which made a kind of sense. Its large basement was traditionally used as storage, it was completely protected against sunlight during the day and it had sewer access. It could serve well as a temporary vampire lair. Besides, he already knew that Buffy had a thing for skating, even though he imagined that her soulless persona probably would be prone to bringing out the more gruesome aspects of the sport. He saw a large sign on the entrée doors "CLOSED FOR REPAIRS". That probably meant that not a lot of people were here during daytime. She would have the place all to herself.

But still, it was only a temporary dwelling, and that told him that if Buffy was staying here, she was preparing to move on pretty quickly. Why and where she would move along, he couldn't know, but he feared he would learn it sooner or later.

At the sound of several pairs of feet, he stopped, turning around, and there she was. She wasn't alone. He quickly counted nine male vampires flocking around her.

She leered at him. "Did you like your present?"

"Well, I'm actually more of a dog person," he replied indifferently, eyeing her reinforcement. "So, what's this? Fledglings usually flock around strong vampires, but how did you get them so quick?" She continued to smile mischievously.

"Guess three times," she said innocently. It didn't take long for realization to hit him.

"They didn't find you," he said. "You found them."

She beamed at him. "Do I get a lollipop for being such a good girl? Or do you want to punish me? Maybe you should come over here and _spank_ me."

"You turned them," he concluded in a soft voice.

"Oh, don't look so sad," Buffy said, grabbing the vampire closest to her, pulling him in, kissing him roughly, touching him hungrily, exploringly. "I only picked the ones with a boring future, so they're better off now really, if that makes you feel any better. This is Pete. He was gonna be a scientist. Blech. Can you believe how boring!" She caressed the cheek of the vampire standing on her other side, slapping him playfully and scratching him with her nails. "This is Mike. He was a surgeon. I figured he knows the human body well enough to become a top notch torturer, you know, like yourself. Now – tell me what you think. Will any of my boys be as infamous as you in a few centuries?"

"They won't live that long," Angel said in a low voice, pulling out the stake he had in his pocket.

Buffy chuckled. "Go get him, boys," she commanded her newly made army of boy toys. "Take the first steps towards your future." Of course, she already knew the vampires would likely be wiped out in a matter of minutes. They had their inhuman strength, but that was pretty much all they had this far. She hadn't had time to teach them how to use their new powers properly and none of them had any special fighting skills from when they were alive. Oh well, she would still enjoy watching the fight.

-

* * *

-

Angel rammed the stake into the last vampire and watched him explode into dust before he approached Buffy. She had been watching the entire fight with a satisfied smirk on her face, occasionally cheering on one or another of her newly turned pets.

"What are we playing here, Buffy?" he demanded. "A few easy vampires. Did you turn them just to see me slaughter them? If you really think this is gonna rattle me, you don't know me very well."

She shrugged. "Well, the gladiator thing _does_ suit you." With inhuman speed she moved towards Angel and grabbed him hard, slamming him up against the wall, pressing herself against him. "Maybe I just wanted you to be properly warmed up," she whispered huskily, touching him and provoking him, groping him, trying to get him to lash out. "Don't tell me you've already forgotten all the nasty little things we did together," she whispered. "I know you haven't."

Angel pushed her away. They circled each other for a minute, before Buffy was the one who finally delivered the first blow, a forceful roundhouse kick to Angel's head. As he was prepared, he didn't even stagger but blocked Buffy's next move before he hit her in the face. She laughed, and he knew why.

This wasn't working – if he fought as if he and Buffy were sparring, he wouldn't last long, and he definitely wouldn't beat her. To win this, he would have to fight with the ruthlessness of Angelus. He would need to hate Buffy's demon just like he hated human Buffy when he didn't have his soul. But how could he hate her when he was responsible for what she was?

"Come on lover, don't be so shy. We've fought before, I know how turned on you get by hitting me. Come on, do it! Break my face like you have before. Come on Angel, you know you want it!"

Angel growled and lunged at Buffy with full force. Even if she was prepared for his attack, she didn't have a chance to move out of the way quickly enough. Angel kicked her in the stomach, grabbed her by the neck and whirled her into the nearby brick wall. She spun around and whipped back at him. She delivered a few blows before he caught her arm, spun her around and pulled it backwards.

She hissed in pain and head butted him to release his grip. While he was recovering she kneed him in the face, grabbed him by the shoulders and flipped him to the ground. He landed hard on his back. He didn't have time to get up before she straddled him roughly, grinding into his groin. She bent forward.

"Can Angelus come out and play?" she laughed. As a response he took advantage of her position and swung her off him by kicking her between the legs. He quickly got to his feet and threw her light body into the wall. Momentarily dazed, she still managed to dredge up a little chilling laughter.

"Call me when you're ready to play with the big girls," she scoffed. "Until then… maybe you should think about why I would lead you so far away from your little band of girl scouts just for a little prize fighting fun," she advised with a grin, before she half ran away from the alley outside the ice rink.

It didn't take a genius to see that she had just fooled him just the same way he had fooled her a few years ago. Something was going down at Cordelia's apartment, and he was at least a 15 minute drive away from helping them.


	45. FIRELIGHT

* * *

**CHAPTER**** 45: FIRELIGHT **

* * *

Faith sat uncomfortably on the edge of a chair, drumming her fingers on her knee. She was anxious and she felt useless. Giles, Wesley and Willow sat at the table, still cracking away at those books, finding nothing but still feeling compelled to continue looking. The utter silence in the room was overwhelming. Faith couldn't help but feel like she was wasting her time playing watch dog. She should be out_there_.

On their way back from the hospital earlier in the day, Willow and Anya had picked up a bunch of new books – well, no actually they were really, really old ones from a source, some kind of top notch occult book store or something. Faith wasn't exactly sure. Not like they had sprung her from prison for her literary qualifications anyway.

She studied Wesley, who hadn't looked up from his thrilling volume for nearly an hour now. _Amaushumgalanna's Compendium_ he had called it, or so she thought, it wasn't like she was going to even try to repeat it. Supposedly it was some ancient Sumerian shit. But since he had yet to shout "Eureka!" she was pretty sure it hadn't given them anything remotely helpful.

Cordelia was sitting on the couch, mostly staring at her own little pile of books and notes, seeing the hopelessness. Anya was curled up in an arm chair, half asleep, tired after an emotionally hard day.

"Maybe I shoulda gone with him," she said finally, breaking the silence. Giles looked up from his book.

"Well, you have been on your feet all day," he said in a soft voice – a caring voice, Faith realized uncomfortably. In a way it saddened her that after all this time the thought of these people actually having something resembling concern or compassion for her still kind of creeped her out. She tried to push those feelings away, but the walls she had built up around her for years and years weren't easy to just... unbuild.

"You wouldn't be an asset to Angel if you were the least bit sluggish," Giles went on. "You and Buffy are very equally matched as it is."

"Two against one, still liking those odds better than, you know, one against one," Faith said, shrugging.

"I agree with Giles," Wesley agreed. "Not to mention the fact that it's good to have someone on deck that stands a chance against Buffy _if_ she were to show up here. It's a huge city out there and nothing to guarantee that Angel will even find Buffy. She is unpredictable, and if we give her any opening, no matter how small, she will be sure to take it."

"Well, I for one agree with criminally insane over there," Cordelia said. "We now how well it usually ends when Angel and Buffy face off alone." She looked at the others. "Do I need to remind you?"

"Cordelia…." Wesley began, trying to find the right words.

"Don't 'Cordelia' me. Just look at their track record. I'm just saying – those two together and badness ensues, one way or the other. Souls and lives lost kind of badness."

"I think you're being a tad unfair," Wesley protested. "Angel is surely the one single person out of all of us best equipped to go after her on his own." Cordelia sighed, a defiant look on her face as she considered a retort to the use of the word 'equipped', but finally she resigned and didn't say anything else.

Faith heard something. Smelled something. Because of her heightened senses, she picked up on it long before the others.

"Do you… do you smell that?" Faith said as she got up from her seat and went over to the window.

"The only thing I smell in here is Spike's stinky cigarettes," Cordelia huffed. "And do you know what I found in the sink before?_Bloody_ mugs. And I mean that literally. My best coffee mugs, full of caked and dried blood. I mean, I know he's evil and everything, but that's just tacky. Not to mention the yuck factor."

"Shut up Cordelia," Faith cut her off, listening hard.

"Wow, Miss Politeness has spoken," Cordelia muttered, but at least she kept quiet.

Faith smelled gasoline. This was a very wrong place for that. She turned to the group.

"Get out. Get out _now_," she said, her firm voice telling everyone that she was serious and there was no time for questions or arguments. However, her warning had come too late. Faith heard the swishing sound of some object cutting through the air just a second before Cordelia's large living room window shattered into hundreds of pieces and a big rock with a gasoline drenched, burning rag tied around it crashed to the floor. Following the rock came two Molotov cocktails, one landing near the couch where Cordelia had just been seated, one landing against a wall, smashing on impact, exploding into a gigantic fireball. The raging fire spread quickly. In just a matter of minutes the whole apartment would be all in flames.

"Hurry, get out, bring weapons!" Faith yelled. "They'll be waiting outside." She tried to cover her face as best she could while gathering the weapons she could reach without getting too close to the flames. She saw the others scramble to their feet, Giles snatching up some of the books from the table, Cordelia supporting Wesley whilst hurrying out the door. Smoke was quickly filling up the hallway of the building, in minutes the air would be deadly for a human and impossible to see through. They needed to get outside.

Just as Faith had expected, a group of vampires were waiting for them. Faith couldn't spot Buffy though. She quickly counted nine vampires. She grabbed a stake. The vamps were prepared for them, and she was the only fully capable fighter in the group. It would be a rough fight.

"Cordelia, bring Anya and Willow to my car and call 911. We're will need the fire marshals… at least," Giles said with a look at the snarling vampires. He raised his crossbow and fired against one of them. He was lucky – the vampire was young and stupid, instead of trying to use his reflexes to catch the arrow or even dodge out of the way he lunged forward at Giles and was dusted long before he reached him. Three of the vampires close to him saw Giles and moved towards him.

Faith was already busy fighting four of them, out of which at least two seemed big and strong. Despite standing weakly, supported by his cane, thanks to being a good marksman Wesley managed to take two of them out with his crossbow.

With a series of kicks Faith sent two of the vampires to the ground, and before they had the time to consider getting to their feet, she staked them. However, as she went down to do this the other two grabbed her from behind. She tried to use their grip to her advantage and flip, but the vamps were strong and she ended up almost dislocating her shoulder.

Furiously she kicked back with both feet and even if she missed her intended mark – the crotch of the biggest one, she hit him in the thigh instead with enough force to send him groaning to the ground. She used the second he needed to recover to wriggle free from his buddy's grip and stake him. She had to let go of her stake to defend herself against yet two more vampires.

"Giles, over here!" she yelled, indicating the vampire in pain on the ground. He aimed and shot, luckily he managed to get the arrow in the heart even though the vampire tried to get up just as he pulled the trigger.

The three remaining vampires all went for Faith, knowing that she was the real threat. She tried to send all three of them to the ground at once with a spinning kick, but she failed as the last vampire had time to move and didn't fall but instead grabbed her leg and twisted it.

She bit back a yelp and tried to kick the vamp in the head, but he sneered at her and pushed her leg backwards. She fell hard on her back. Immediately all three of the vamps were on her, two of them held her down and the third tried to push her head to the side to be able to bite her.

"Hey!" she heard someone roar furiously, followed by a growl.

The vampire trying to bite her was lift off of her and thrown to the side, revealing Angel. He kicked one of the vampires that held her down and hit the other squarely in the face, making him fall backwards. Faith leapt to her feet, wincing slightly when she felt the stabbing pain in her twisted leg.

"Good timing!" she told Angel.

"Yeah, I try," he said. The two of them quickly disposed of the remaining vampires.

"You okay?" Angel asked. Faith nodded quickly and ignored the pain in her leg and stiffened when she heard the sound of sirens. She gave Angel a look and he nodded, understanding.

"We can't stay here. Here, take my car," he said, handing her the keys. "Get to the hotel, we'll come after you." Faith nodded a short thanks and took off.

"Good timing, Angel," Giles said as he passed him in the way to his car.

"Right," he muttered as a reply, thinking that he shouldn't have let himself get led off in the first place.

"Did you… er, find Buffy?" Giles forced out the question, grimacing.

"I did. It was a trap – she led me away." Angel looked at Cordelia's building. He could see the huge, roaring flames shooting out through her shattered window. A few people, her neighbours, had fled outside, some standing just in their nightgowns, staring at the destruction. "Not hard to figure out why," he said. "A vampire would have sensed the fire and smelled the gas long before even Faith would."

"Ah, yes, yes, well." Giles swallowed hard. "The important thing is that we all made it out alright." Angel shrugged, looking uneasy.

"We shouldn't have been so easily fooled. Or _I_ shouldn't have been. An act like this, there's not a whole lot of finesse behind it, but all of you could still have gotten killed. Giles said nothing, unable to come up with a suitable reply. Cordelia came marching up to them, furiously stomping her feet against the ground with every step, seething with anger.

"I'm telling you! When Buffy gets her soul back, she is _personally_ paying for _all_ of this!" Cordelia hissed. Giles looked away, moving over to the books he had left on the ground, picking them up. Cordelia whirled around and glared at Angel. "And YOU! Said something about not giving her any openings?! Play it safe, as I so very clearly recall?! Well, wasn't it basically YOU who introduced the whole tactic of leading away the self assigned hero to attack the slaving part of the gang?" Angel stared back at her, not finding anything to say in his defence.

"Well," she continued. "You're obviously _stupid_ enough to fall for your own tricks." Her voice was hurt and upset. She turned around and made her way back to Giles' car, getting in and slamming the door. Everyone was very quiet and even Giles seemed somewhat uneasy at Cordelia's outburst.

"Um… we're going back to your hotel, yes? I suppose we better keep the group together, in case… er, well, in case anything else should happen tonight."

"I don't think she'll do anything else tonight," Angel sighed. "Like I said, this? Not a whole lot of finesse. She just wanted to shake us up a bit, show us that we can't expect to be able to predict her moves. But you're right. I'll call Gunn, tell him we're relocating."

-

* * *

- 

A few hours later the group had settled down in the hotel. Fire or no fire, the change of scenery was a relief. Considering the tension between him and the others, well, with the exception of Faith and, to a degree, Wesley, Angel was glad he had 68 rooms and five storeys at everyone's disposal. It would probably spare more than one fight. Gunn was still in the hospital and Spike was supposedly still cruising around town, but the rest of them were gathered in the hotel lobby, trying to figure out the last bit of the sanctuary spell.

"Okay, so Lorne said that he hires the furies monthly to cast the spell," Willow explained, looking through her notes. "It's not that complicated, really, at least not in theory."

"The transuding furies are three sisters," Angel explained. "Somehow, their joined force gives them the power to cast spells like this without a lot of trouble."

"Like on Charmed or something?" Cordelia asked. Angel stared blankly at her.

"The charmed… who?" Cordelia sniffed at his reply.

"Right. Gotta learn to keep the pop culture references far away from the centuries old guy."

"Do you know the furies, Angel?" Willow asked. He shrugged uneasily.

"Well, I-I used to," he answered vaguely, hoping that they wouldn't linger on the subject. Luckily Willow seemed fine with the reply and went on.

"Alright so, we've already spread burnt cloves around the perimeter. The furies perform the ritual with bloodroot dust, but I don't have any here, and cloves should do the trick. We got our candles working their candle-y mojo for us," she said, motioning to the lit candles sitting on the counter. "Then there's an incantation." She cleared her throat. "Okay, here we go. _Violence restrained, demons disarmed. For mortals within these walls, no harm. Protection and safety this charm doth endow to make this shelter a sanctuary now._"

They were all very silent for a few moments, looking around expectantly as if waiting for something to happen.

"Sooo…" Cordelia said. "That's it? Like all of it?"

"Well, I guess so," Willow said, uncertain. "But, we should test it, right? And the spell, um, it only works on demons, so…" she trailed off, looking at Angel. There was a long beat of uncomfortable silence.

"Um… oh," he finally uttered. Fortunately, Faith helped him out.

"Ah, that's cool, you can smack me. Or not, I guess, depending on whether the thing worked." He looked uncomfortable, hesitant due to recent events, but she shrugged it off. "Wicked strong, remember? And it's practically part of the job description, anyway."

So with her permission he launched a punch to her face and struck out.

**ZZZZZAAAAPPP!** The impact was immediately deflected by a force field that flashed bright blue and threw Angel staggering back. Faith looked around for a second, grinning.

"Awesome!"

"Well, good," Angel muttered, clenching and unclenching his fist tryingly. It felt like it had been electrocuted. "That's good." He sighed, scanning the group. They were all tired. It was understandable. It hadn't exactly been a quiet day. "It's late," he said. "I don't thing we'll get anything else done tonight, why don't you just go upstairs and try to get some rest. At least now, everyone's safe in here." He remained where he was, watching all of them clear out and head upstairs. When the lobby was finally empty, he breathed an unnecessary sigh of relief.

Alone at last.

Angel didn't get many minutes of peace and quiet before the glass doors swung open and Spike strode through them, swiftly making his way down the stairs and plopping down comfortably on a chair, resting his feet on a small table. Angel shot him a look which Spike ignored.

"Interrupting the brooding session, am I?" Angel sighed. "By the by, nice of you to tell a fella you were relocating."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Angel scoffed, "did poor William have a fright when he found himself left behind?"

Spike raised his gaze and eyed the hotel lobby interior.

"Didn't get the chance to discuss decorations the last time, what with you away embracing your inner self and all. Your tastes haven't changed much," he commented with only a hint of appreciation.

"It fills me with such joy that you approve," Angel snarked back at him. Spike raised his eyebrows into a frown.

"Bit testy today are we? So, what the hell happened at Cordelia's? Smelled like a sodding barbeque party over there, only without the without the crispy man-sized snacks, I'm sorry to say."

"A fire," Angel said tiredly, sitting down heavily on a chair.

"Yeah, well, kinda figured that much out myself," Spike replied, eyeing him.

"Buffy led me away and sent her lackeys to burn down Cordelia's apartment," Angel explained. "That enough explanation for you?" There was a beat of silence. "She's just playing with us," he sighed. Spike nodded, got up from his chair and went over to the small refrigerator Angel kept behind the counter, opening it and looking around.

"Seems familiar, don't you think?" he said whilst rummaging around in the fridge. "Suppose you two'll spend eternity fighting, shagging, taking turns on being evil and tormenting the other one." Angel grimaced, rubbing his head.

"You're such a positive vibe, did anyone ever tell you that?" he said. Spike grinned.

"A fella tries," he said, as he pulled out a blood bag from the fridge, fingering it. After a quick sniff, he looked at Angel with a frown.

"This good stuff, eh? Doesn't smell like the cheap pork juice you usually live off. The crap no self respecting vampire would touch." Angel narrowed his eyes.

"Like you don't have any experience in pig's blood yourself."

"Do so, unfortunately. But unlike yourself, don't have much of a choice, remember?" He tapped his head for emphasis. "Now, don't hedge, is this what I think it is?" Angel hesitated before he nodded.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "It's human. From, uh a bloodbank. I… I stole if for Dru... before."

At the mentioning of Drusilla, the two of them fell silent for a moment.

"Huh. Mind if a fella snag some then?" Spike said finally. Angel shrugged.

"Help yourself," he said shortly. It wasn't like he felt some irresistible urge to be nice to Spike – no, definitely not – but he couldn't see any harm in Spike taking the blood instead of pouring it down the drain. He wasn't going to drink it himself. After a time feeding on human blood and then being cut off from it, his body suffered withdrawal. Supplying the demon within with more of what it wanted wasn't going to make it easier.

"So, did you… Find something?" Angel said finally, breaking the silence, watching Spike pour the blood into a mug, sticking a bendy straw in it.

"Well. Found out the blood of a Thurof demon is bleeding impossible to get of your shirt," he said, indicating the purple mucus stains on his t-shirt. Angel frowned.

"Besides that?"

"Nah, uh, nothing about Buffy. Suppose she was off doing it instead of bragging about it in some demon bar."

"Hmm."

"Maybe you could learn a thing or two from her," Spike sneered.

"Knock it off," Angel warned, definitely not in the mood for more bickering right now. Especially since the sanctuary spell would prevent him from shutting him up forcibly if needed.


	46. GETTING TO BUSINESS

* * *

**CHAPTER 46: GETTING TO BUSINESS **

* * *

The big evening event had worked out pretty much as Buffy had anticipated. While no one had actually died, except for the useless help she had sent on that suicide mission, it had stirred around the pot a little. Sure, it would have been poetic in a way if Angel had gotten back just in time just to find all of his friends deep-fried, but she hadn't expected as much. And had it worked out like that, she was pretty sure that would have driven him far enough off the deep end to let her relieve him of his crippling, strangling soul once and for all. Still, had just been the first round.

Buffy walked through a dark alley and looked with disgust at four men sitting on the ground, huddling around a small fire. She was actually pretty hungry, but eating a smelly homeless guy was simply beneath her. The smell alone was enough to repel her. She wouldn't even have bothered with them if hadn't been for one of them who scrambled to his feet and spoke to her, too drunk and stupid to realize the danger.

"You…Little lady. Lady little. Over there. Whasch a pretty lady like you doing all by your loneschome… You look cold. Why don't you let me… me and my buddies warm you up. Come schit over here."

He grinned woozily at her as she turned around and stared at him with her deadly, dark gaze. Her human self would have taken crap from them, she would have been angry but told herself that just because she had superpowers, she didn't have the right to make her own rules and go above the law, avoided eye contact and scurried away like a good little mouse-girl.Yak, yak, yak…

Buffy walked up the man who enthusiastically started fumbling with the zipper of his pants, cheered on by his fellow sleazebag's drunken laughter. Just as he was about to grab Buffy, she hit him hard enough to break his nose, probably along with a few other bones in his face that she hit with her tiny but iron hard fist. He tumbled to the ground, landing flat on his back. The laughter immediately drowned out.

"Don't worry," Buffy said to the bleeding figure at her feet. "I don't eat garbage. I just throw it out." She bent down and grabbed the bouncing, wee sausage-like thing he had pulled out from his pants into all its glory, squeezed and pulled hard until she heard flesh tearing and felt her hand being sticky and warm from his blood. She smiled when she heard him scream and shortly thereafter, gurgling on his own blood. She glanced at his face, which was extorted by agony and shock. He had bitten his own tongue right off.

She savoured every moment of it before she turned to the rest of the old drunks. No longer laughing, the stink bags huddled together behind their puny fire, as if she wouldn't notice them if they didn't make a sound. Pathetic excuses for a sorry species.

"So, boys. Did you wanna play?" she asked with a cold grin.

-

* * *

- 

Half an hour later Buffy stepped inside the casino she'd been looking for. Wasn't she just the picture of good citizenship? When the garbage man came, he should be delighted to find that she had cleaned up the streets a bit, disposing of those pigs. They were currently residing in a nearby dumpster. Every bit of them.

Okay, as refreshing as her little impulse killing had been, now it was time to get to business. This was the place had been told was owned by a guy – well, a demon – that could help her with her problem. She scanned the room, looking for the one she wanted. Her gaze settling on him, she approached him, but was stopped short by a greenish looking demon with sunglasses.

"What are you doing here, sweet thing? Into gamblin'?" he spoke with an Australian accent, holding her firmly by the arm.

"I want to see him," she replied indicating the demon sitting a few tables away. He looked at her.

"See who, lassie?"

"Jenoff."

"Got an appointment?" Buffy stared coldly at him.

"No, I've got _business_," she said and yanked free from his grip. Before he could grab her again she elbowed him in the eye and moved up to Jenoff faster than the human eye could comprehend. Jenoff smiled a little. The green demonic repo-man hurried after her and prepared to drag her away from the table, but Jenoff held up a hand.

"It's alright. Let her stay." The demon shrugged and left them. Jenoff looked intrigued.

"Remarkable entrance," he commented with an appreciating look at Buffy. "Who are you?"

"The name's Buffy," she replied shortly.

"Ah, Buffy. What can I do for you?"

"I want something," Buffy said.

"Not sure I can help, then," Jenoff said, shaking his head. "I don't traffic in wants. I supply needs." He frowned and stared intensively at Buffy, meeting her gaze. "And by the smell of it, you don't have what it takes for me to be interested in your business. You found me, that tells me you already know that I can give you anything. Money, power, love – I can make it happen. There is a price though, of course. My price is a soul. You're a vampire and therefore lacking in that department." Buffy grinned at him.

"Very astute. But it actually does work out, you see. My offer might be a little different than what you usually do, but I guarantee that it's the best you're gonna get… ever. I offer exactly what you want, and I can promise you, this soul is juicier than most of them."

At first Jenoff looked like he was going to dismiss her, but something kept his interest.

"Tell me."

"Like I said. I want something. Someone, in fact. And the way I get him, is by you taking exactly what you want."

-

* * *

- 

It was almost noon the next day and Angel still hadn't rested at all. He was sitting in his dark office – partially going through a book with Romanian spells, partially listening to the conversation between the people in the lobby, and partially thinking. Well - brooding.

"Good God, do you _ever_ do anything besides bloody brood?" the whiny, almost physically hurtful effect of the cockney accent cut through Angel's thoughts like a stabbing blade and jolted him back to the world of the conscious.

"What do you want, Spike?" He put down the book and turned his chair enough to look directly at the blond vampire. "Did you have anything to say or are you just here to annoy me?"

"That last bit, pretty much a full-time occupation all in itself. You look funny when you're pissed. Think the forehead actually _grows_."

"Spike…" Angel growled in warning.

"See we're in a good mood today," Spike smirked. "Nah, the Slayer, Anya and Red's gone to pick up Cyclops-boy from the hospital. Remaining part of the Rescue Rangers out there wanted you to join the club meeting." Angel sighed, getting up from his seat.

"They didn't dare to come ask me themselves?"

Spike shrugged. "Strange, yeah? You being Mr Sunshine and all."

Angel went right past Spike and out the door without another word. Yes, it was true; he hadn't been in the best mood. Being recently evil, haunted by cravings and guilt and having to deal with Buffy – not only that he had robbed her of her new chance at life by killing her again, but also that she had hit a good stride as a killer and for every day that went by, more innocents would face ugly death due to what he had done. So, _excuse_ him for being a little sullen. He didn't expect them to understand that. How could they? Why _would_ they? It wasn't their burden to bear.

All gazes turned to him as soon as he stepped into the lobby, blinking against the stronger light in the lobby.

"Angel, you look…" Wesley began.

"Half dead," Cordelia finished for him after a quick glance.

"Well, gee, since I'm completely dead, you must be catching me on a good day," he retorted. "Have you found anything?"

"No soul spells if that's what you mean, I'm afraid," Wesley said. "This… I fear this might not be an easy task, Angel. We haven't ever found any suitable spells before, the few that exists all seem to have loopholes of some kind, not to mention be incredibly dangerous to perform…"

"Yeah, I know," Angel interrupted. He had heard all this before. "Did you have something important to tell me or did you just wanna remind me that we're a band of useless, delusional dimwits that are making no progress here?""

They were all silent for a few moments, exchanging worried glances.

"I know this is difficult to hear, Angel," Wesley said warily. "But we thought it best to keep you in the loop on things. Like you said before, we need to stick together. We can't afford to…"

Wesley was interrupted mid-sentence when front doors were swung open. Four demons stood at the top of the stairs. When they didn't attack immediately as could be expected from such creatures Angel slowly moved towards the round couch where he had a fighting axe.

"This Angel Investigations?" one of the demons asked. It was green with certain reptile like features and a pair of small sunglasses.

"It is," Angel said cautiously, gripping his axe. He could hear a heartbeat fasten and Gunn drawing a sharp breath behind him. After nearly 250 years as a vampire, Angel knew people very well, knew how to read them and how to interpret the smallest of changes in their behavior and body language - breathing, scent, heartbeat. Gunn recognized the demon, and it wasn't a pleasant reunion. "Do I know you?" Angel continued. "You don't exactly seem like our type of clientele."

"Our boss has business with you, Angel," the demon continued. "If you just follow us…"

"I don't think so," Angel interrupted. "You see, not really my time of day." He nodded at the glass doors. "The sun – my complexion. It's a thing."

"Oh. Then I suppose we do this the other way." The demon frowned and made a motion in Angel's direction. The three demons at his side raised their weapons and started to move. Angel looked at the people at the desk. He wouldn't be able to fight, and neither would the ugly looking demons. He would need human help to take them out.

"Gunn, catch!" he yelled and threw the axe. Gunn was already on the alert; he leapt to his feet and caught the axe. The three demon flunkies attacked Angel, and just as they struck, all at once, the force field repelled them with full force, sending them flying backwards.

Gunn took advantage of their temporary dazed state and beheaded the first one. While he fought the other one, forcing it to stay on the ground, Angel handed out weapons to Giles and Cordelia. He thanked himself once again for ignoring Cordelia's proposal to move all the weapons down in the basement.

Gunn axed the other demon in the chest and Giles and Cordelia disarmed the third one completely. Giles shot it with a crossbow and Cordelia tried to stab it with her smaller variety of axe, when none of it killed the creature Gunn grabbed the demons own weapon and finished it. The Australian demon remained on top of the stairs, studying Gunn.

"Well, look at you, slick. Still fighting to protect the young and innocent." He looked at Angel and Spike. "And otherwise." He stared at Angel through his sunglasses. "Don't expect this to be over. What Jenoff wants, Jenoff gets." With that, he turned around and headed out.

Angel's eyes darkened.

"Damn it," he cursed in a low voice.

"Angel, what is it?" Wesley asked from his safe position behind the desk.

"These demons work for Jenoff."

"Jenoff? I don't believe I've heard the name. Who is it?"

"The soul sucker."

-

* * *

- 

"He owns a casino. Doesn't do dirty work by himself if he doesn't have to. Big with lackeys. Also big with contacts and resources. He gives people what they want in exchange for their future. He claims their soul and makes them sign a blood oath. Sooner or later he decides to collect his goods and sends out muscle to bring in the person. Takes their souls."

"How, exactly, does he extract the souls?" Giles asked. "Is he human, a warlock or shaman?"

"No, he's a demon. I don't know what kind or exactly what power he possesses, only that he consumes souls, both from demons and humans." Giles didn't like what he was hearing.

"Oh, dear."

None of them said it, but was clearly obvious what was going on. Buffy wanted Angelus back, and permanently. If she could get Jenoff to extract Angel's soul, it would probably be no chance of ever getting it back.

"I counted on the possibility of this," Angel said. "That Buffy would try… something. But not like this…"

"We'll make it right, Angel," Wesley said. "We know what he's after; we'll just have to stop him."

Gunn moved uncomfortably from one leg to another. "Yeah, uh, do you want me to track down Croc Dundee? See where Jenoff hangs his horns." Gunn made a move towards the door.

"Stay here Gunn," Angel said sharply. "You could begin by explaining why it would seem like you know Jenoff." Gunn looked at Angel, then down at the floor.

"Look man, it's ancient history." Angel shrugged.

"So give us a history lesson."

"Yeah, he enjoys those," Spike cut in, but was quieted by Angel's dark glare.

"'Bout six years ago, I made a deal with Jenoff. I signed away my soul for… for something that I needed." Angel furrowed his brow.

"Someone?"

"No, not someone. Something. My, uh… my car."

Cordelia snorted. "You traded your soul for a car? That's just cheap." Gunn shrugged.

"My van. Rigged it up for dustin'. Saved a lot of lives with it. Including my own."

"But still… wouldn't it have been easier to, you know, rob a bank or steal the car?" Gunn shrugged.

"I was seventeen. Didn't think the future was worth anything. Didn't think I had one anyway. Easier than risking going to jail." Everyone looked at him. "Or so I thought at that time," he added silently.

"Hey, maybe it wasn't Buffy? Maybe Nancy boy here traded the soul for his car," Spike suggested, grinning. Only the sanctuary spell held back Angel's urge to swat him over the head.

"Well, that's good," he said in Gunn's direction, deciding that Spike was best off being ignored.

"Good?" Gunn asked incredulously.

"You know Jenoff, you've met him. I only know _of_ him. We will take him out, and it will be easier to do that with someone on deck that has seen him."

-

* * *

- 

"We don't have time for this."

"I know."

"She speaks true Angel, we really don't have time for this."

"I_know_."

As soon as Faith, Willow, Anya and Xander returned from the hospital, they had informed them of the situation, and ever since then, they were trying to agree on how to handle the problem. Some supposedly unkillable demon going after Angel's soul wasn't a problem they needed right now. Of course, Buffy already knew that. Sending new gags their way right now, knowing that they were still reeling after yesterday's events and trying to gain something on her. She wasn't wasting any time.

"Uh, Angel. Since you're the, erm, target here, what is your suggestion?" Wesley asked him.

"I think we split up."

"A-are you sure that's wise? To divide ourselves when we're not sure what lies ahead?"

"We don't have a choice," Angel said sharply. "We split up in two groups – the capable fighters and…" he looked around the lobby. "…otherwise. After sunset, the fighters go after and kill Jenoff, the rest of you stay here and research. Buffy could still come in, but since she can't reasonably do anything other than standing around and making remarks if she does happen by, you should be alright."

"Well, she could stand around, or she could, I don't know – maybe launch a flame throwing party," Cordelia commented. Angel shook his head.

"Lacks variety."

"Right, of course," Cordelia agreed. "Or, that's what she wants you to think." A beat of silence. "But since that is pretty much the only plan… "How does the Recently Evil One suggest we split up?"

"I'm thinking me, Gunn, Faith and Spike in the fighting team," Angel replied quickly. "That leaves you, Giles, Willow, Xander, Anya and Wesley to stay here." He looked at them. "Okay?"

"So what if a fella doesn't want to risk his neck for your sodding soul?" Spike said, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest. Angel sighed. He would have been surprised if Spike _hadn't_ complained.

"If you don't want to come with us, you get to stay with the group and_study_," Angel smirked. "I won't mind. A little book learning would do you good." Spike seemed to consider it for a brief moment before he smacked his hands together, rubbing them and offering a smug smile.

"Said something about a demon that needs puttin' in the ground, did you. When are we going then?"


	47. INTERFERENCES

* * *

**CHAPTER 47: INTERFERENCES**

* * *

"So… I think it's safe to say the Angel project didn't turn out… quite the way we had planned." 

The newly promoted President of the Special Projects Division, Linwood Murrow, looked a little uncomfortable as he glanced at the lawyers sitting around the table in front of him. The fact that the two previous men in his position had been killed by Angelus and his girls was, well, discomforting to say in the least, but being a direct superior to all the people in the room, he obviously couldn't show it. The Senior Partners believed in him and he wouldn't ever let them down. They didn't take disappointment lightly. And, he hadn't sacrificed his children to them just to weasel out when he had gotten this far.

Of course now the main threat, as they saw it, was gone. Angel's little band of sidekicks had reportedly restored his soul successfully. While it wasn't exactly according to the firms plan, he couldn't help but to feel a smidge of relief, with the fear of his own life in mind. This meeting concerned Angel's girlfriend, the turned Slayer. That feisty girl could be a very valuable asset to the firm, or she could blow the top off their heads. Literally.

"Ya think?" Lilah scoffed, looking mockingly at Linwood. He stared coldly at her. That woman had no respect for him or his position. He suspected that the resentment might be due to the fact that the Senior Partners had sent him up directly to an advanced position in the firm.

"So the real question is what we can do about it?" he said, ignoring Lilah's glare.

"Gee, I don't know," the insolent woman spoke again. "We could… send an assassin after her? Try to make a deal with her, get her to promise not to touch us? Send a troop of lawyers after her and see in how many bucketfuls they'll get back? Our sources say she lives in the basement below an ice rink, we could always try to sue her for the poor accommodations she has for her torture victims?"

"Are you quite finished?" Linwood said dryly. He was going to have a talk with the Senior Partners about Lilah's position in this firm. Perhaps it was time to "relieve" her of her duties. He studied Lilah's colleague, Lindsay McDonald. He might appear more stable than her, but the fact was that he had a record of betrayal and unreliability. Plus, he had a personal beef with Angel, one that wouldn't favour the firm or their interests. Maybe he would have to have them both killed.

"I was thinking," Linwood said. "That we should deal with Angel on our on turf. We know that he lives in a big hotel on which he has a mortgage as far as we know, but how does he do that? Does Angel even exist? He has no social security number, no tax payer ID, no last name as far as I know. How can he go down to the building department, or anywhere else in officialdom for that matter?" Lilah stared incredulously at him.

"Let me get this right; you want to drown Angel in a mountain of paperwork? Suffocate him in red tape?" she sneered, shaking her head.

Linwood didn't answer immediately. Very simply put, that was his idea, but when Lilah sounded it out, it didn't seem as ingenious as when he had thought of it.

"And about Buffy," he continued, ignoring her. "Maybe we really _could_ strike some kind of deal with her. She WOULD be an invaluable associate, and quite frankly I think that with the right…"

"Are you that stupid?!" Lilah interrupted angrily. "This 'project' needs to be terminated. That vampire…vampire slayer doesn't have any interest in working with us!"

"She's right."

Linwood jumped at the sound of the unfamiliar voice and they all turned to the door.

Wearing a tight-fitting crimson tank top, tight-fitting black leather pants and an unmistakable sardonic grin, there she was, leaning against the doorframe, holding a battle axe with blood dripping from it. It was obviously already used.

"Since you apparently have this little gathering set up just to discuss my un-interests, maybe you wanna guess what I _am_ interested in," she said, menacingly swinging the axe.

The whole room was still for a moment. Linwood pushed hard on the alarm button under his desk, but it didn't seem to work. Buffy saw and heard what he was doing.

"Oh, please, don't bother with that. I already took care of the little men with pointy sticks. Funny, it used to be me who did that. You know, six years of that slaying gig gave me some wicked skills, I'll tell ya that!" She giggled. "Of course, the difference is that these guys didn't go pooft when I did my thing."

"W-what, um, ah, w-what?" Linwood stammered.

"Oh, come on," Buffy grinned. "There's a sentence in there just dying to get out."

"What… what do you want, Buffy?" Linwood forced himself to put on a brave face.

"Guess three times." With that she darted across the room, pushed all the lesser lawyers on the meeting out of the way and grabbed him.

"I don't know you. Frankly, I'm not interested in doing so. I mean, gosh, you people are worse than the fucking order of Taraka. Kill one, a new one comes. Kill thirty and they still keep coming." She seemed to stop to consider that. "Hmm, maybe I should just spare your pathetic life. 'Cause what good is it, right, if they just keep replacing you?"

"Y-yes, y-yes," Linwood stammered. "You're absolutely r-right, p-p-please…" Buffy shrugged and let go of him, seemingly having made up her mind. He exhaled a sigh of relief. Then she whipped back at him, swung the axe and brought it down with full force, practically cleaving his skull from top to bottom.

"I lied," she dully noted, casually shoving the body away and turning to the rest of the people in the room.

"Buffy, please…" Lilah said. Buffy swung her axe again, menacing.

"Oh, don't give me the puppy-eyed-begging-for-mercy-look. Really tired of that one. I'll have no choice but to gauge them out." She grinned. "And you know I'm good with that, don't you."

Buffy sauntered towards Lindsay and Lilah. "I'm here for someone in particular. If no one tries to stop me, you won't get hurt… much." She grinned. "If, however, you are stupid enough to play hero…" Buffy turned around and grabbed the two lawyers that had snuck up behind her. She twisted the neck of one of them and flipped the other one over her back, landing him hard on Linwood's desk with a cracking sound. "…something like this will happen," she concluded. "Just so we're clear. Okay?"

"Buffy, we didn't want things to go like this…" Lilah began lamely. Buffy stared at her coldly. She moved up to her so quickly that Lilah didn't even see her coming. Buffy grabbed her hard by the throat with her left hand and let the nails of her right dig in to Lilah's cheeks.

"What did I say? Huh?" When her nails had made four bleeding, half moon shaped cuts on Lilah's face, Buffy spun her around by the arm, twisting it till she heard a crack. Lilah bit back a scream. Buffy heard how her heart and breathing fastened and chuckled.

"I hadn't planned this," she said, "but there's nothing wrong with a little spontaneity. I'm not one to turn down a chance at dismemberment." She tightened her grip. "So, what do I do with you?" After a quick look at Lindsay, Buffy smiled evilly, picked up her axe and severed Lilah's right hand with one smooth motion. Lilah gasped and opened her mouth to scream but the shock made her lose her breath and she just slumped to her knees, face white, mouth open and gasping for air, eyes wide and staring. Buffy snickered and kicked her in the face roughly, sending her head first into the wall. She slipped to the floor unconscious and bleeding badly.

"There," Buffy said, walking up to Lindsay. "A recurring favourite."

"Now," she said with a smirk. "Either you follow me willingly, or I make you." Without hesitation, Lindsay reached for a weapon. If he was going down, he wouldn't do it without a fight. However, he foolish to think that he had any chance against Buffy. Before he could even reach for something to use as a weapon, she was at his side, holding his left arm hard.

"Uh-uh," she laughed. "That's not nice." With a single blow to the head that would have killed him if she had placed it on a more sensitive spot on the skull, she knocked him out and dragged him out of the office.

-

* * *

- 

"So this is it?" It was an hour or so after sunset and Angel, Faith, Gunn and Spike had just arrived outside Jenoff's casino. Angel glanced up at the tall building.

"Yeah, this is the place." Gunn nodded and inhaled a deep breath.

Giles and Wesley had been able to pinpoint Jenoff's lineage to something called a Froth'raak demon. Well, it was more of a qualified guess, really. There were more than one species that had the power to extract souls, but this was the one that matched Gunn's description closest. However, Gunn's description was pretty vague since he hadn't actually seen the demon for over 6 years. They could only hope that it was accurate. The Froth'raak breed was apparently pretty closely related to the Mok'tagar demon which also had the ability to extract souls via the Ritual of Mok'tagar; the Sunnydale gang ought to know, having faced one of them disguised as Buffy's first room mate at college, Kathy a while back.

Apparently, Froth'raak's were pretty hard to kill. They were able to grow almost any body part, including their head, if it was cut off. Fire wouldn't do any good. However, if the demon was completely dismembered and the pieces were burned and buried separately in hallowed ground, it should keep him dead. It would take some doing, though.

"So what's the plan?" Faith stepped forward.

"Gunn, do you know how he does to extract souls?" Angel inquired.

"Yeah, saw it once," he said, cringing at the memory. "Sticks his fingers up the eye sockets, very nice."

"Right, so we have to watch out for his hands." Angel turned to Spike. "Spike, you're the only one safe from his powers. That means you get to grab his hands and keep them away from us." Spike crossed his arms over his chest.

"Why would I wanna do that?"

"I don't actually _care_ what you want, just do it," Angel said firmly, determined not to discuss with Spike. "When we have him, we dismember him. Simple as that."

"You make it sound _easy_ when you say it," Gunn grimaced. Angel didn't reply.

"Let's go."

The four of them moved inside the building quickly and used the staircase instead of the elevator to get to the right floor, careful not to show up on any surveillance cameras before they were close. The last thing they needed was fighting several of Jenoff's goons and giving him a perfect time to escape if he wanted to. Of course, if Gunn remembered this guy correctly, it didn't seem like he was the running-away type.

"Okay, be ready. We go in hard and fast," Angel whispered when they were outside the door leading directly into the casino. They held their weapons tightly.

"Now!" Angel gestured and opened the door. As soon as they stood inside the still sparsely populated casino hall, all gazes - some demon, some human – turned to them. It took only moments before several guards of the same demon type as those that had attacked them at the hotel approached them, weapons raised. Angel growled and attacked one of them. After only a few blows he kicked the weapon out of his hand and spun him around, holding him by the throat. The rest of the demons remained where they were, seeming to await further orders.

"Who does a guy gotta kill to talk to the boss around here?" Angel called out. Soon a red eyed creature who he quickly decided had to be Jenoff emerged from behind his guards.

"Angel," the demon acknowledged.

"Yeah, that'd be me," Angel replied dryly, cocking his head. "Jenoff, I presume? My latest soul hunter." The demon smiled.

"Nothing personal. Pure business," he said. "Besides, the way I hear it you feel a whole lot better without your soul, so I don't see the problem. It's a winning situation for all of us. I'm doing you a favour here. I scratch your back and get a champion's soul out of the deal. " When Angel's only answer was an evil glare, Jenoff smiled.

"Don't be like that. So, how do you want to do this? Should I let my guards hold you down, or are you prepared to do this the honourable way?"

With a hard twist, Angel broke the neck of the demon he was holding and let it slump to the ground.

"Why don't you guess," he hissed. Jenoff's smile faded and he nodded briefly. That was all he needed to do for his other guards to charge at Angel, Spike, Faith and Gunn. They braced themselves. A few of the guards went for Gunn and Faith but most of them held their positions, obviously determined to keep a line of defence between their boss and the two vampires advancing towards them.

They couldn't hold the line for long, though. Attacking them viciously, Angel and Spike made short work of cutting down their numbers, so to speak. Quite literally, actually.

Really getting into it, morphing into game face and making the most of this refreshing spot of violence Spike shoved the last demon between him and Jenoff at Angel and took a long leap. He grabbed Jenoff and spun him around, keeping his hands behind his back.

After almost being knocked off his feet by the last demon that Spike practically sent flying over him, Angel regained his footing and beheaded the creature. He hurried up to Spike and Jenoff, seeing that he was about to twist free from Spike's grip. Just as Angel was about to embed his axe in Jenoff's neck, the demon roared and managed to hit Spike while he at the same time kicked Angel in the gut. Both vampires were sent sprawling in opposite directions. Angel realized that Jenoff really wasn't as meek as he looked – which was logical really. If he was, he wouldn't have stayed alive for long.

"Oh, bollocks," Spike groaned as he struggled to get to his feet. Before Angel had time to get up, two of the giant demons that momentarily had escaped Faith and Gunn's wrath grabbed him and held him back. Jenoff rushed over to them and put his palms on Angel's temples while the vampire jerked and struggled to get free.

"Normally I'd use the eyes," he said, "but I don't want to tick off the little blonde by harming the merchandise… more than necessary," he sneered at him.

Not about to stand around and wait patiently for his soul to get permanently removed, Angel realized he needed to take immediate action. Without further thought he used the demon's grips around his arms to his advantage and kicked out hard with both legs. It sent Jenoff tumbling backwards, right into Spike who stood ready with his sword which he used to slice off one of Jenoff's arms.

The demon growled and spun around. Angel used the few seconds he had and released himself from the demons. Gunn came from behind and distracted them. Angel picked up his axe and severed Jenoff's head. Immediately he fell to his knees and with a slurping sound they heard and saw how a new head was about to emerge from the body.

Spike cut off the other arm while Angel thought fast and used his heavy axe to cleave the body in the middle. The two pieces fell in the accumulating puddle of yellow goo – presumably the colour of Jenoff's blood.

Gunn and Faith hurried up to them, Gunn was panting from the fight and heavy excitement.

"Cool!" he exclaimed at the sight of the Jenoff halves.

"That was pretty tight," Faith agreed, grinning appreciatively. All of the casino guest seemed pretty pleased with what had just happened – they were probably all in debt to Jenoff in one way or another.

"That was a bloody doodle and a piece o'piss," Spike summarized in a plucky tone, wiping his palms on his pants to get rid of some of the viscous goo.

"Nice to see you take these life and death things so seriously Spike," Angel said with a look.

"Ah, don't be so glum! We're both dead men here," Spike replied. Angel smothered a sigh.

"So… is he dead?" Faith said after a moment.

"I'd say so," Angel said, watching the pieces carefully. None of them had moved or showed any sign of growing new parts. "At least for now. But we can't be sure he's gonna stay that way. We'll burn the pieces, box 'em up and bury them. There's a cemetery pretty close by."


	48. PAIN

* * *

** CHAPTER**** 48: PAIN **

* * *

He could hear the sound of her heels clicking against the floor, the sound growing stronger as she came closer. She wasn't in any hurry, moving slowly, calmly across the dim space. He heard a scraping, metal against concrete. His head was throbbing, aching. The hair just over his right temple was caked with tried blood. 

His arms were numb from being tied in an awkward position behind his back for several hours. He tried to jerk his right shoulder free, some part of his pain dulled mind telling him that it was impossible to secure a handless arm, but he couldn't get loose. His legs were screaming with pain from being crushed to the cold, hard floor underneath the weight of his body for all this time. He couldn't move them. He tried to shift to ease some of the strain, but his legs wouldn't abide. His nose picked up the stale, putrid stench of vomit. He didn't remember puking, but he must have. He could taste blood. His tongue felt swollen, his lips and throat parched. When he moved his tongue slightly in his mouth, he could feel that a few teeth were missing. He didn't even remember when or how they had been removed.

There was a faint memory in the back of his mind, a memory of struggling, screaming, thrashing his head, getting beaten almost into unconsciousness and then the taste and feeling of cold, hard, dirty metal, clicking against his teeth, pain and choking on his own blood. By now the memory was dimmed and he wasn't sure if it had been just a dream or if it actually happened – but considering the fact that there was definitely teeth missing, it must have happened.

Reality had begun to escape him, he was drifting in and out of consciousness and was no longer aware of how long he had been here. He forced his eyelids open, instantly regretting it. A spotlight was aimed right at his face and the sharp light assaulted his eyes, seemingly penetrating them with thousands of splinters. When they finally started to adjust, he blinked several times, trying to chase away the dark spots dancing on his retina. He could see the outlines of her somewhere in the dim light behind the spotlight. When she came closer to him, he could see the look on her face. Calm. Assessing. She was just standing there, studying him.

He saw a pair of pliers lying on the floor in front of him. He could see a lighter, a screwdriver, a pack of cigarettes and a knife with dried blood on the blade.

When he shifted his head as best he could and saw the severed hand that was lying in his lap, his body jerked, he jumped as best his battered body could in his restraints and felt bile rush up in the back of his throat, his stomach retching. For a few seconds he was sure that she had taken his other hand as well. Then he looked at the limb closer and realized that this one had dark red nail polish on the nails. It was a right hand, and it was clearly feminine. Then he remembered. Lilah.

She slowly made her way into the spotlight, moving slowly, fingering the tool in her hand. A meat hook, Lindsay realized.

"You're awake. Good," she observed. "No fun without an audience." She bent over, taking the hand from his lap, seeing his gaze following the severed limb.

"Oh, this?" She smiled. "Present for you. Thought you would like a helping hand by now." She chuckled at her own pun. Then she changed in a second, calm movements instantly replaced with aggressive force, as she shot towards him and got right up in his face, holding the sharp, rusty meat hook threateningly aimed at his eyes, just centimetres away.

"You wanna try a different position?" she asked teasingly. "Stretch out for a bit?" He just stared blankly at her, unable to move or speak. The only thing he had left was a tiny shred of dignity – he wouldn't let her see his fear and agony. She would enjoy it too much, and that pleasure he wouldn't grant her.

She got up again, hooking the meat hook to a strong link of chain dangling from the ceiling. "Angelus taught me a few things," she informed.

"Among them being that a human body can survive for hours, days even, dangling from one of these, as long as it's placed correctly." She smacked the hook lightly with her hand, making it twirl around, the chain rattling and squeaking. She turned back to him.

"The pain is excruciating, of course, at least for the first few hours. But then again, that's kinda the point." She stared coldly at him, trying to read some emotion in his eyes. He defiantly hid the horror that she could smell all over him. Along with sweat and some nastier stenches a stressed and shocked human body would produce, she could feel it coming off of him in waves.

"However, I'm pretty sure a few hours will be enough time for the victim to enjoy the pain before that." She flashed an amused smirk.

"Let's get fleshy, shall we."

-

* * *

- 

"Do we tell him? Does he need to know it?" Cordelia looked at the rest of the gang with a questioning frown. They had seen on the news that "an unidentified assailant" had attacked Wolfram & Hart sometime during the day. They didn't get any details from the TV of course, other than that seven security guards had been killed and that three bodies had been found in a conference room with one person badly hurt and one missing. It didn't take much thought to understand that it was Buffy that had been paying the evil law firm a visit. Assaults on Wolfram & Hart were very rarely showed on the news, so it was probably safe to assume that one or more of the hot shots of the firm had been killed – otherwise the event would just have been covered up.

"I definitely think we should," Wesley said. "We shouldn't keep Angel in the dark on this. No good can come out of that."

"But maybe it's too much for him," Willow said. "With Jenoff trying to steal his soul and Buffy being…" she trailed off, not wanting to say it out loud. The scary visuals they had gotten from seeing the news was more than enough.

"Dead Man Walking can handle it," Xander said, his voice raspy and weary. "And if he can't – he'll go all Psycho, nothing new there, and we'll pick up the pieces." There was a tad of bitterness in his voice. "Nothing new there either." He supported his chin in his palm, sighing. He was tired. So very tired, and kind of nauseous, that last bit being mostly from the drugs he was pumped full with, but the imaginary visual of his friend mass murdering a bunch of people not really helping either. The very clear un-imaginary memory of that same friend gauging his eye out, forcing her finger practically into his skull, clawing, digging, the sickening sound of tissue tearing and crunching definitely not helping either.

"Xander is right," Giles settled, cleaning his glasses. "Angel will need all facts to be able to handle Buffy. The fact that she is…" he stopped for just a moment, "that she is killing, will be of no surprise to him."

Any further discussion was stopped short by the glass doors bursting open and Angel, Faith, Spike and Gunn entering. Their expressions didn't say much about the outcome of the Jenoff hunt, but since they were all there, in one piece and with their souls attached – except Spike, obviously – it couldn't have been a complete failure.

"How did it go?" Cordelia was the first one to speak.

"Jenoff is no more," Gunn said, flashing a satisfied grin as he put his home made battle axe down next to the desk.

"Tore him apart," Angel said, summarizing the battle in those three words, putting his weapons away into the weapon cabinet.

"Eh, not only you," Spike said with a glare. "Without old Spike savin' you, Princess, it would be soul begone, again," he was quick to remind Angel. The gang frowned at that, but decided not to ask. They didn't need to hear the horror story that was "this is how close we were to losing Angel's soul forever" – at least not now when Jenoff wasn't a threat anymore.

"What did you do with him?" Willow asked, immediately regretting the question, as she could picture it in her mind. "I-I mean," she added quickly, "he won't come back?" Angel shook his head.

"No, I doubt it." He pondered that thought, thinking back at the yellow gooey pieces they had scraped from the floor, burned and packed up the remains in separate boxes. "Not anytime soon, anyway. He's in five steel boxes buried deep in Sunnyside cemetery."

"A cemetery is an improvement, I guess," Cordelia mused. "Just remember Dr Chop Salad, we had to dump him in the concrete of some subway station to make sure his parts stayed... you know, apart."

"Let's pretend we didn't hear any of the disturbing maiming and disposing of corpses talk," Xander said with a grimace. "We can move on to the more comforting informing of Buffy playing Unholy Lady HacksAway with those lawyers." Angel snapped his head to the side and looked sharply at Xander.

"What?"

"Latest news, hot off the press" Cordelia said. "Looks like Buffy's been at Wolfram & Hart." Angel nodded slowly, obviously not surprised.

"She… we said that we would take them out piece by piece." He swallowed and continued hesitantly. "Make them play _our_ game instead of playing theirs. It's not surprising." Cordelia frowned.

"It doesn't bother you that Buffy has murdered at least ten people today? Okay, I see a logic flaw in that statement. Did the soul thing not take as well as we thought?"

"Sure it bothers me," Angel said lightly, a hint of annoyance in his voice at her last comment, "but it is Wolfram & Hart we're talking about here. In a way, they brought this down on themselves. I'd rather have her killing them than roaming the city, killing innocents."

"Can agree with you on that, I guess," Gunn said. "So I guess the question is, what do we do now?"

-

* * *

- 

The next afternoon, Angel was sitting in his dark office. Brooding. Again. Not unusual these days – with everything going on he needed his time alone to process and think everything through. He had always been more comfortable with sitting alone in the dark rather than participating in the debate with everyone else, and even more so now.

Plus, there was the fact there seemed to be a tense vibe in the room whenever he joined them. He wasn't sure exactly what they felt about him, they hadn't said much. Well, he knew how Cordelia felt, and he knew that she could hold a grudge for about as long as Lorne could hold a note. He knew that Faith was fine with everything and Wes seemed okay as well. Gunn, he wasn't sure about. The Sunnydale gang he _was_ pretty sure about, but not in a positive way - things hadn't been completely okay at that end for years, pretty much since before the first time he lost his soul. Well, maybe except for Willow. She always tried her best not to judge.

Still, it wasn't like he could blame them for their feelings, they were pretty much justified. They had all suffered horrible loss due to him. Not just when he was soulless. Cordelia had been right about what she said before, he had let himself sink so deeply into despair after Buffy died that he was almost ready to have his soul deliberately extracted, just to make the pain stop. He hadn't even given it one thought what would happen to them if he succeeded. He had always been weak, he thought darkly, and his actions then, after Buffy, had probably pretty much convinced them that they couldn't trust him even when he had his soul.

Right now he knew that they were worried about him – again. Even if they kept their voices down and he didn't really eavesdrop deliberately, he heard parts of the conversation outside. He heard Cordelia say something about thinking he was "headed back into soulful psycho mode without passing go", basing her fears partly on his reaction to the fact that Buffy had slaughtered several Wolfram & Hart staff the day before. He was sorry that she felt that way, that he had hurt her enough to undo the bond and friendship that had grown strong during their first year together in Los Angeles.

But what Cordelia would never understand, and thus he would never try to explain to her, was that he _had to_ cut of his emotions to get through this. Exactly what would happen was still unclear, they still didn't have any answers. The only thing he knew for a fact was that he was facing one out of two possible hard challenges.

Either they would find a way to give Buffy her soul back – which they already knew wouldn't be easy. It wasn't like she would just shrug this off and then go right back to being the Buffy they remembered. The truth was, she might _never_ be what they remembered again.

The other scenario was that they would find there was no possible way to bring Buffy back… and if that was the case, he would have to kill her. For her own sake, and for the world.

Immediately when the lobby door opened Angel's sharp senses picked up on the extra heartbeat and new scent. It was… perfume of some kind that he was fairly certain he had smelled before, and there was blood. He got up from his chair and made his way into the lobby to see who it was.

She didn't look like she used to, in fact, she was barely recognizable. Her hair was tangled and pulled into a simple pony tail, her clothes were simple and comfortable instead of the usual suits and high heels she normally wore. The most apparent thing about her in terms of injury was the fact that her right arm was significantly shorter than the left and had a lot of bandages wrapped around it. Faith jumped down from her position on the counter, glaring suspiciously at the woman she recognized from last spring.

"Lilah," Angel acknowledged tentatively, unsure how to proceed. He let his eyes drift back to the bandaged arm. The hand – it wasn't there anymore. Another joke from Buffy, and this one was on him. She had severed Lilah's hand just as he had Lindsay's…

"Angel," she said in a raspy voice, without the smug little smile that usually followed the first thing she said to him. Everyone stared at her.

"What do you want?" Angel continued, standing his ground and crossing his arms over his chest. If she had expected him to help her to the couch and offer her a nice cup of tea because of this, she thought wrong.

"The reason for this," she raised her right arm slightly, wincing at the effort, "it has to stop."

"And that's supposed to mean what?" Angel replied with heat, defensively. "This the part where you tell me you're sending someone to kill her, one of your firms best and brightest, hm? Army of minions? Demon assassin?"

"Easy big guy. Didn't really _take_ last time, did it," Lilah commented, glancing at Faith. "And actually, no. No, what you need to stop this player isn't so much killing her as turning her back around to your kind of thinking."

"We know," Cordelia said without stop staring at Lilah's arm. "But there is no way to do it. No way to restore Buffy's soul. We haven't found _anything_."

Lilah attempted a grin. "Oh, but why do you think I'm here?"


	49. HOW IT ALL COMES TOGETHER

* * *

** CHAPTER****49: HOW IT ALL COMES TOGETHER **

* * *

An awkward silence filled the lobby. Everybody stared at Lilah. Suspicious, lingering glares, as if staring at her for long enough would discern whether she was telling the truth or were just running her firm's errands, trying to scam them somehow.

The silence was getting near ridiculous. Someone coughed a little, a book creaked silently when it was closed as those ancient, fragile volumes often did. Glass clinked against wood when Spike put down his glass of blood, someone's shoe squeaked against the floor when they moved.

Finally Angel spoke.

"And you have known about this soul spell… for how long?" Angel looked hard at Lilah. He could hardly even begin to understand what she just had told them.

"Well, Angel," she began with a slight smug smile – obviously regaining some of her usual self confidence – "I personally have known about it for a few hours. According to what I found it's been hidden in your file since last spring when the firm first decided to remove that pesky soul of yours, and the Senior Partners have had possession over it since the 5th century. The spell itself dates back even further."

"They have a whole file just on Angel?" Cordelia snorted. Lilah stared at her.

"Well, only thirty-five cabinets," she shrugged lightly, as if it had been easy to go through it.

"Oh. Right. _Only_." Cordelia stared incredulously at her.

"Oh yeah, and I had a really good time searching through every inch of it, too." Her voice was ripe with sarcasm. "Two hundred and seventy five years of the most inane..." She broke herself off, shaking her head. "And what kind of wussy name is Liam anyway?" She looked at Angel. He furrowed his brow, annoyance evident on his face.

"Can we maybe get back to the point?" Angel said. "You were talking about a certain soul spell."

"Yes."

"So what is it? Something like my curse, or…"

"No, it's nothing like your curse. In fact, they don't even call it a curse. It's Sumerian, and the way I understand, it's more of a gift."

"Are we believing this?" Xander said. "'Cos I mean, gift wrapped soul, coming in shiny paper from the good ol' Sumeria… Shouldn't we know about that?"

"Did you say that Wolfram & Hart has had it in their possession since the 5th century?" Wesley asked. Lilah nodded. "Well, that certainly explains it. If they wanted it for themselves, they probably erased all tracks of it."

"Like, pulled it out of reality? Can they do that?" Willow said.

"I'm certain they have the right resources," Wesley said. "Of course it's possible they didn't do anything of the sort in this case. It's quite possible that there existed only a limited number of books containing this spell. They might have taken possession of them all or destroyed all but one."

"But why?" Willowed asked, shaking her head. "Why would they wanna hide a soul spell? Isn't it a good thing?" Wesley shrugged.

"For power, I suppose?" he replied hesitantly, seemingly wanting to say something else. "And-and given the fact that they are, well, evil, it wouldn't really be in their best interest if there were such powerful magic's that could restore a vampire's soul just lying around…"

"How does it work?" Angel asked Lilah, cutting off Wesley's monologue. She stared at him.

"This is off record stuff, which translates to instant killing if discovered. Understand that this isn't according to what the firm wants. For some reason, they want to keep your little Destruction Bitch operative. And, well, personally I would offer a round of applause to _anybody_ who can make your unlife an unliving hell – if not only for the fact that I CAN'T seem to applaud anymore. Get my point here? I want that thing gone, but if you really think I sat and figured out the details for you, you're dumber than you look."

"I like her," Spike commented, grinning. Angel ignored him.

"Did you at least bring the book then, or is this the place where you tell us where it is and expect us to go after it on a wild goose chase, set up to drive me into Wolfram & Hart?" He eyed her suspiciously. The wound was real and she looked sincere – the fear coming off her was genuine, he had smelled enough of it in his day to recognize the real stuff – but she WAS one of the Wolfram & Harts best and brightest. He didn't trust her.

She nodded shortly and pulled a book out of her left coat pocket._Amaushumgalanna's Compendium_ the front said in heavy, flourished letters. Wesley stared at the book and took it from Lilah, flipping through it.

"I have this," he muttered, "there is nothing of use in it, I've gone through…" he trailed off, staring at a page somewhere in the middle of the book. "This passage," he said, staring at Lilah, "I have the same edition, an identical copy of this book and yet this passage does not exist in it."

"What, like, someone tore it out?" Xander asked. Wesley shook his head.

"No, no, the volume is intact. It's just this passage here; it's completely missing from the book that I have." He eyed Lilah suspiciously. "Care to explain?" She sighed.

"You said it yourself, smartass. Pulled out of reality as in all tracks covered. All entries in all volumes existing on this plane at the time deleted. That," she indicated the book, "it's not a local copy."

"Not local, as in…?"

"Not from this dimension." While Wesley pondered that thought, Angel took the book from him, eyeing what supposedly was the description of the spell.

"This is all in Sumerian," he stated after briefly scanning the pages.

"Score one for the vamp detective. Since it's a Sumerian spell, you know - duh," Lilah muttered.

"Don't you read Sumerian, Angel?" Willow asked. Angel shook his head.

"Not enough to interpret this correctly," he murmured.

"May I?" Giles reached for the book and Angel gave it to him. After studying parts of the text for a few minutes, he looked up.

"It will take some time to translate it completely, but if Wesley and I work together, we should be able to do it in a fairly short amount of time." Angel nodded once.

"What does it say?"

"Ah, just like… Ms. Morgan here said, it speaks of returning the core of an _Akhkharu_. Vampire. Of course that is merely the gist. We will need to read and translate the text completely to know more."

"How do we know if it works out like it should? I mean, for sure." It was Xander that asked the question everyone wanted answered.

"I don't think we can know for sure," Angel said. "Giles?"

"Oh, no, I fear you may be right. There is no record of any vampire ever having their soul returned by this – not in any of the books I have ever read on the subject and nothing in the Watcher's Diaries. Even if it has happened, that was probably before these books were taken, in other words perhaps 1500 years ago or so."

"So," Angel turned back to Lilah. "The biggest question remains. Why should we trust you? You know, to the paranoid person, it would seem like you're offering exactly we need at the time we need it the most." Lilah frowned.

"The paranoid person would be right. But have you seen me? A hand short, horribly dressed, hair half way to hell – why wouldn't you be able to trust me?"

"She has a point," Cordelia commented. "The W and H lawyers seem to be big with the turn coating when things don't go their way. I mean, just look at Lindsay. First time around when that Sightless Seeing Jane was gonna kill those kids and then when Angel almost killed him and he came to us all ripped to shreds. I mean, he was telling the truth about the spell to bring Buffy back." Angel stared at her, confusion written all over his face.

"What?"

Cordelia frowned. "Come on. I know you were busy with maintaining your black hole of despair, but you gotta remember that."

"I don't. I mean, I didn't. I never attacked Lindsay." Cordelia frowned, not sure what to think. There was no reason for Angel to lie about that, but that would mean…

"Hey, yo – does that mean lawyer guy tricked us?" Gunn frowned. "Damn. But why would he? It worked out, Buffy was resurrected and Angel…" he trailed off. "Oh."

"What?" Cordelia didn't catch on, but Wesley did.

"Oh dear. Of course. Lindsay posed as he was in need of help, to make us trust him… He supplied us with the resources for the resurrection spell… and we all know what happened when Angel met Buffy." Angel looked away.

"He knew? He fooled us?" Cordelia looked angry. Lilah grinned.

"And you fell for it. Can't believe we didn't crush you all like bugs last year. Then again, guess the laugh's on you considering how it turned out."

Angel walked up to Lilah and stared coldly at her. "You admit that Lindsay posed as wounded to get what he and your firm wanted. So I'll repeat the question. Why the hell should we trust you?" Lilah shrugged and smiled a fake grin.

"Because I have a sincere face?"

-

* * *

-

Four hours later the research and translation of the Sumerian soul spell was on going. Everything seemed to work out this far. The plan was slowly forming, they planned to capture Buffy and try the spell on her. If it didn't work… well, they hadn't actually covered that part yet, since the obvious solution was too depressing to bring up.

Before Lilah had left, Willow and Anya had done a revealing spell to show any charms or glamour's on her that might make her look like she was wounded. There wasn't any, and Lilah's reason for helping them seemed credible. Lilah had always been one to put herself first, and now when Buffy had almost killed her, slaughtered several of her colleagues and kidnapped Lindsay, there was no telling what her next move might be. But Lilah was pretty sure she would be high on the hit list, something she wasn't prepared to sit around and find out.

"Of course," Anya had commented, "it's possible that they may be using an anti-revealing-spell spell, to block our revealing spell. I which case we would need an anti-anti-revealing-spell-spell spell." And apparently, the ingredients to those were rare, so they had pretty much let the subject drop.

Just after Angel had retreated to his office, Wesley walked inside, supported by his cane, carefully closing the door behind him.

"Angel, I want to talk to you about something," he started out very calmly, very softly. Angel snapped his head up and looked at him with suspicion. If there was something Wesley wanted to say that he couldn't bring up in front of the others, he probably wouldn't like it.

"What is it, Wes?" he answer in a tired voice, sitting down heavily in his chair.

"I have a concern in all this that I feel I must share with you. Things aren't black and white in all this; there is no absolute right and no absolute wrong. No handbook to tell us what the right thing to do is. When we capture Buffy, we're going to have to make a decision. I don't believe we will have a lot of time to make that decision, so it's best that we talk about it now."

"What do you mean? If the spell doesn't work? Let's just take one thing at a time," Angel said, shaking his head. Wesley swallowed.

"No, Angel, I don't mean if the spell doesn't work." Angel shot up from the chair again, giving Wesley a cold look.

"We have a spell that might restore her soul – we'll try it, and that's what we will do," he said slowly. "End. Of. Story." He was afraid to think what Wesley was getting at. He _knew_ what Wesley was hinting at.

"Angel, think about this. Think about Buffy. If you were to lose your soul yet another time, would you truly want to be re-cursed, to spend the rest of your life constantly fighting your inner demon, remembering all the horrible things you've done? Would you want to remember the faces of every single person you slaughtered while your soul was absent?"

"Little late with that speech," Angel said with a short, bitter laugh. "You do remember that I've been doing this for over a hundred years, don't you."

"Yes, you've suffered for over a century," Wesley agreed. "Truly, high marks for those Romany. But more importantly, what you need to ask yourself here is, do you wish that for Buffy? Do you really?"

"What kind of a question is that, Wesley? What I wish is for Buffy to be alive and with her friends and family," Angel spat out.

"But she isn't. And she _won't_ be even if this spell succeeds," Wesley replied softly, sadly. A beat of silence. "And let's not even discuss the consequences if Buffy were ever to lose her soul after this."

"This spell doesn't have any _loopholes_ if that's what you're implying," Angel said in a low, dangerous voice.

"As far as we know!" Wesley called out. "Think about this! A hundred years passed before the clause in your curse was ever revealed." Angel looked sharply at him. "Do you even know how many people Buffy has currently killed?"

He said nothing.

"Well, do you?" Wesley pushed further. "We all saw the mayhem the two of you caused together, and she certainly hasn't exactly been on the lazy side after that. Meddling with these kinds of forces; it's not to be undertaken lightly. There is always a risk. Resurrection of any sort, ripping spirits out from their afterlife – truly potent magic is required to accomplish this. There can be serious consequences."

"Not like that stopped you people from resurrecting her though, did it?" Angel snapped. Wesley shrugged briefly, an uneasy grimace on his face.

"We thought it would help her. Help _you_," he said softly.

"Wes," Angel continued, almost pleadingly, anger turning to sorrow for a second, "I_did_ this to her. I have to take responsibility for her. If I can..." he trailed off. "I have to at least _try_." Angel turned his back to Wesley.

"Angel, I wouldn't expect you to do it. When we catch her, I and Faith will take care of it. We'll stake her."

Angel whirled around faster than Wesley could conceive, slamming his hands against the desk, making the wood creak in protest. Wesley jumped at the sudden show of aggression.

"You. Will. Not. Touch. Her," he said between gritted teeth, pronouncing one word at a time. "You're talking about killing Buffy, _killing Buffy_, without even giving her a chance at some kind of life. It's not happening. We capture her, we do the spell, that's it. This is not even a discussion, understood?"

Wesley sighed, nodding slightly, realizing that it would be a waste of breath to say anything else. Angel glared angrily at him and marched back into the lobby without another word.

"How's it coming along?" he asked as he stepped into the lobby. Giles looked at him briefly, the expression on his face clearly telling that he had heard the discussion in the office.

"Angel, ah, yes. I would say that it's nearly finished, I just have to translate a few ingredients."

"Ingredients?"

"Yes, the spell requires anointing in oil."

"Okay. What do we know?"

"It doesn't seem all that complicated. The vampire has to be in vicinity of three people; souls, to be more accurate, that are closely connected to her or him."

"Like people she shares blood relations with, or…?"Angel asked carefully, painfully aware that Buffy didn't have many of those left.

"No, not necessarily as far as I can interpret. Close friends, loved ones…" he swallowed, "and in this specific case, sire, should satisfy the requirements."

There was a beat of uncomfortable silence.

"Anyway," Giles went on, "the ritual itself is performed with three crystals – an incantation is spoken in Sumerian. The soul should then go directly into the nearest soulless vampire anointed in the oil."

"'In the vicinity of'," Xander repeated. "Meaning that she needs to be right here when we do the spell?" Giles nodded.

"Yes, well, unfortunately it doesn't work like, er, like the curse. She needs to be in our midst."

"I don't think that's totally of the bad," Cordelia said. "I mean, if little Miss-Likes-to-Bite has as long ears as daddy dearest, we don't want her roaming unleashed when we do the spell."

"Yeah," Xander agreed from his position next to Anya on the couch. "We've done that before and from there comes no good."

"Okay! Fine," Angel cut off, edgy and tired of the hassling. "So what do we need? What about these crystals?"

"Fairly common used. We should be able to buy them in any well-assorted magic shop."

"Good. We still have a few hours until sunset – see what you can do until then. Talk to as few people as possible, we don't want Buffy to know about this. Make sure you're back before she can get out. Hopefully we can do this tonight, I don't want her loose longer than absolutely necessary."

"What if we can't get all ingredients tonight?" Willow asked. Angel considered it.

"I think we should try to bring her in anyway," he said finally. "This can't go on, there is no telling what she'll do next." No one could disagree with him. "Faith, feel up for it?"

"Sure thing," she nodded.

"Gunn, I need someone to tranq her, so I want you to come with us."

"Yeah, sure. Think I'll do better out in the field than here, sticking my nose in all them books," he replied.

"Good. We'll head out after sunset."

"Hey, what about me?" Spike asked, getting up and abandoning an empty, bloodstained glass on the desk.

"You're not coming," Angel said.

"Hell I am! You think you're getting all the fun? Bloody well no." He shook his head violently as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He inhaled sharply and puffed a cloud of smoke right at Angel. "Not a bloody cocker spaniel you know, _sweet-cheeks_. I make my own plans. Go where I please."

Angel glared at him and snatched the cigarette from his mouth, resolutely putting it out.

"Okay," he said finally. "You can come with us if you behave. We can always use another fighter, taking Buffy down won't be easy."

He eyed Spike's defiant expression. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to bring him along, but he didn't have the time or energy for the fight that would inevitable follow if he said no. Besides was he said was true – they could always use another fighter for their side. The more of them, the better chance of bringing Buffy in without – too much bloodshed. "IF –you –behave," he said again, slowly.

"Cross me non-beating heart, hope to stay dead," Spike smirked. Angel sighed and turned to the rest of the gang.

"Get to it, there's no time to lose." Not asking so much as telling.

With that he turned around and went back into his office. Spike made a cheery salute behind his back when he was sure Angel wasn't looking.

"Well," he spoke. "Looks like His Poofiness is done speaking. Bugger's worse than Captain Cardboard ever was." He lit another cigarette. "At ease."


	50. FISH OF THE NIGHT

* * *

**CHAPTER**** 50: FISH OF THE NIGHT **

* * *

Just before sunset everyone arrived back at the hotel. For once, on this very rare occasion fortune had smiled upon them. Usually, fortune just kind of frowned and made a face before running off in the other direction, so this change of luck was greatly appreciated. Willow, Anya and Xander had gotten plenty of all the ingredients that were needed for the oil and even if it had taken some leg work, Wesley, Cordelia and Giles had gotten hold of the three required Sumerian conjuring crystals.

Angel, Faith, Gunn and Spike had stayed at the hotel and gone through how to hunt down Buffy. Or, more accurately, Faith and Gunn had provided the ideas while Angel acted as the pessimistic critic that cut into the discussion with reminders such as "that won't work", "she'll se us coming" and "yeah, that's a good plan if you want to have your bones extracted from your living body": Spike hadn't contributed at all, he had soon tired of their debate and proceeded to watch reruns of Passions on the small TV in the lobby, comfortably half lying on the couch.

At last everybody seemed to agree and know what they were going to do. Angel was the one to lead the hunting party and Faith would back him up if needed. Gunn would stay in the background and be ready to shoot her with several tranquilizer darts, and Spike… well, was mostly just along for the ride, eager at the thought of a spot of violence. Plus, as Angel was uncomfortably aware of, there was his personal interest in Buffy.

Nobody could deny that the four of them made a tight team. Between two strong and experienced vampires, a Slayer and a most seasoned human vampire hunter, in theory this mission was as good as done. Of course, that was in_theory_. Taking down an enemy like Buffy without actually killing her and without any of them getting killed either, was a different matter.

"It's probably a good idea to prepare the oil, but wait with the rest," Angel stated to the others. "If everything works out like it should, Buffy should be pretty far under when we get back, so she will be manageable for at least a little while. We don't want to rush this. We can chain her up in the basement for as long as we need." Giles nodded.

"Alright. Are you four heading out?"

"Yeah, we are. No time to lose."

Angel, Gunn, Faith and Spike exited the hotel and headed for Angel's car. As soon as they arrived at it, Spike leapt into the passenger seat.

"Hey, how come Evil Dead gets to ride shotgun?" Faith inquired, half smirking at the vampire.

"Age constitution, pet," he smirked back. Angel frowned as he got in behind the wheel. "'Sides," Spike continued, "probably best if the biggest whiffs sit in the front."

"Whoa, wait a minute. We're relying on your noses to find Buffy?" Gunn asked. "That'll take a while."

"We're not," Angel said firmly. "We'll go to the ice rink first, I think that's where she'll be until she decides what to do tonight. If that doesn't pan out, we'll work our way from there." Gunn and Faith seemed to accept the plan as they sat down in the back.

The ride passed quickly and soon Angel parked his Plymouth outside the back entrance to the ice rink, not far from the basement entrance.

"This is the place," Angel said as he forced the door open and entered. As he walked down the steps he had a nagging feeling that something was wrong. He couldn't sense Buffy, not as he usually would if she was nearby. There was nothing. He felt her scent, she had definitely been there, but… Something was off. Of course, his body was still adjusting to functioning without a large amount of fresh human blood – maybe his senses were just having a hard time catching up. Not that it had happened before…

As soon as they had gotten down the stairs the compact, intoxicating smell of blood hit them hard. While Angel after many years of practice was able to push down his demon even at this amount of stimulation, even if he had a hard time doing it, Spike didn't even bother to try and hide his interest. He sniffed loudly, patting his stomach for emphasis.

"Mmm, now we're talking. Decent meal. Hope the bloke's dead, then my chip won't go off." Faith made a grimace.

"Angel?" she said as if asking for confirmation.

"Blood. Lots of it. Definitely human," Angel said. There was no mistaking the thick metallic-like smell. What he didn't mention was that he recognized the scent pretty well – he had smelled this person's blood before.

"We'll have to search through the basement," he said. "Unfortunately it's large and if Buffy's here, she probably already knows that we are. Stay quiet."

"I'll go this way," Spike said, strolling in the opposite direction of which Angel was going. He didn't protest, he wasn't the one to vote against Spike and himself going separate ways for a while.

"Should we split up?" Faith asked.

"You and Gunn can go in the other direction, I'll go by myself. Be careful."

Angel moved quickly through the dark basement. Still he felt nothing, no sign of Buffy being close. There was of course the possibility that she had already picked up on the soul spell they were working on and right now had the hotel under attack. Well, she couldn't hurt anybody herself, but there was always fire – she had used it successfully before. He doubted it though. Through himself he knew her, and he knew that he, as Angelus, wouldn't pick a way to attack that he had already used so recently if there was another – more interesting – way.

As he was about to round a corner, he felt a slight tingle. Not as strong as usual, but at least it was there. Was it Buffy? Angel became even quieter – probably not even a vampire would hear him come now. Stealthyness is a virtue as he had learned over the centuries. He stopped for a second just before passing the corner, and so did his opponent. This was it. He braced himself and stepped forward.

Angel and Spike went right into each other – probably more surprised and embarrassed than anything else over both mistaking each other for Buffy.

"Aah! Spike." Angel glared at the younger vampire. "Thought you were going in the other direction."

"Was, 'til I got here. Little off today, eh?" Spike smirked, hiding the fact that he had been taken by surprise as well. "Or maybe old Spike just scared you. Did your life pass before your eyes? Goes something like this; brood, cuppa pigs blood, brood, cuppa pigs blood, didn't get shagged, cuppa pigs blood?"

"Spike," Angel warned.

"What! You should be glad I'm here. Promise to annoy you and poke you in the side just enough to make sure you don't go having one of those sweet little moments of warm fuzzies. Wouldn't want that, eh, mate?" Angel suppressed a growl. He refused to give Spike the pleasure of a sign that he had managed to piss him off.

"Let's go," he said between gritted teeth.

The two vampires soundlessly stalked along the dully lit path between packing crates and shelves. The smell of blood became stronger – they both felt it.

"There," Angel said. In the centre of the large basement, there it was – the space that Buffy seemed to have used as make-do torture chamber. A victim was dangling from a meat hook. A young man. A small spotlight was aimed right at him.

Lindsay.

Faith and Gunn had caught up with them after circling the basement from the other direction. They entered the small space too, but they stayed somewhat behind when Angel slowly walked up to Lindsay. He had been dead for a while. His body was savaged, completely covered by bites, cuts, bruises and burns. His stomach was sliced open and some meaty remains of intestines were protruding from there.

The body was naked, the remaining pieces of clothing scattered on the floor. Buffy was very creative. She didn't know much about advanced torture methods, but the few things that he had taught her as Angelus, she had used well. That, and she had a creative mind. Two words had been burned, no, branded, Angel realized, into his back, considering the tools that lay scattered on the floor probably using a heated screwdriver.

"'Carpe Noctem'," Faith read. "What's that, something about fish? 'Cause he sure as hell was gutted like one."

"No," Angel muttered. "It means 'seize the night'."

He studied the body. The meat hook was put just in the right place. The bleeding hadn't been copious enough to let him bleed to death. Judging by the stale smell from the wound, he had probably been on that hook for several hours before he died. He grabbed the body and swung it around far enough to face it. There was an envelope attached to his bare savaged chest.

Angel grimaced as he pulled out the knife Buffy had driven right into Lindsay's chest, straight into the heart in fact, to attach the envelope. It was soaked with dark red blood. Buffy may have been human when she learned most of it, but she had learned about evil from the best of them. Her arrangements, specially made for him, smacked of his own teachings. Angel looked at Lindsay's face – wrenched in terror and torment, pale from fear and blood loss. He tried to find it in his heart to feel sorry for him. No one should die like this, not even someone like him. Still, Angel couldn't feel for him. Ultimately, he had brought this on himself. Angel opened the envelope and pulled out the message. It was neatly written and very short.

"_There's no place like home, love Buff." _

"Oh hell."

-

* * *

- 

The gang waiting in the hotel had been sitting perfectly still and quiet for the last twenty minutes when the doors burst open and Spike entered. Everyone tensed – the return was likely to mean one of two unpleasant things – that Buffy was with them or that something had gone horribly wrong.

"Hello all," Spike greeted simply. They looked strangely at him. Gunn, Faith and Angel came in right behind him, looking discouraged and worried. Angel looked like he was about to bolt and since she knew he was prone to going straightly into his office and brood when he didn't feel like sharing, Cordelia hurried to speak up.

"So… Everything went great, right?"

"Yeah right – great," Gunn muttered as he sat down. Angel stopped at the weapons cabinet and started to unload several weapons of different kinds, a determined look on his face.

"Bad all around," Faith agreed.

"So what happened?" Cordelia prodded, eyeing them suspiciously. It didn't look like they had been fighting. Angel turned to face her, a resolute look on his face.

"Buffy wasn't there. All we found was Lindsay – what was left of him, anyway, and this." As he passed the counter he slapped the blood-soaked piece of paper on it for them all to see. Cordelia eyed the message and furrowed her brow.

"There's no place like home?" Xander read. "What, she's going back to Sunnydale?"

"Yeah," Angel sighed. "Evidently."

"But… why?"

"It doesn't make any sense, does it?" Wesley mused. "Do you have any idea why she would go back, Angel?" he asked. "One would think she would enjoy herself in Los Angeles. Millions of people to torment, huge city as her playground."

"L.A. has everything that Sunnydale has and a lot that it doesn't," Angel agreed. He sighed and continued in a strained voice. "Except for one thing." Everyone was quiet for a moment.

"That'd be a Hellmouth, right?" Willow said quietly. Angel nodded.

"The Hellmouth. Are you sure that's what's drawing her away?" Giles asked with a frown. It didn't sound very logical.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Angel said simply.

"But why Sunnydale?" Xander argued. "Not like she has any family left to kill and we are her only living friends nowadays." His voice held a hostile, sharp edge. "We should be high on her hit list, why move AWAY from us?" Angel avoided looking at anyone.

"I think she has other business in Sunnydale."

"Like what?"

"Yes Angel, I think right now explanations are in order," Giles agreed sternly. Angel sighed. Again. Was this the right time to tell them? He had hoped he wouldn't have to, that they would be able to bring Buffy back before it became an issue. Well, this was hardly the time to be cryptic…

"Before you restored my soul… we… Buffy and I… had plans," he began warily.

"Don't we know it," Xander interrupted. "It involved carnage and the splattering of guts, right? Squishy, squishy?"

"Xander!" Giles hissed. The boy remained silent.

"We had bigger plans than that," Angel continued, not bothering to stop and consider the raw truthfulness to Xander's coarse utterance. "It's a… it's a long story."

"So get to it," Cordelia said. "Some of us here are actually getting older, you know."

"To start at the beginning, this winter a very powerful demon goddess came to Sunnydale. She was looking for something – or someone, that part isn't clear, a mystical Key of some kind, a key that she would use to open a portal back to her own realm, from which she was banished because of her great powers. This portal, however, could only be opened at a certain time and place, and it would rupture the walls of reality. The portal wouldn't just go to her world, but the borders between every existing universe would collapse. All existing realities would bleed into each other."

"That would destroy our world," Giles said. Angel nodded.

"It would. In fact, it would probably ruin every universe involved in it. But, something strange happened, at some point, I'm guessing sometime when… Before you restored my soul…"

"_That_ time around, just so everyone's keeping track," Cordelia interrupted, snorting. Angel continued.

"She stopped and left Sunnydale. I'm not sure but I guess someone either hid the Key somewhere else or destroyed it before she could find it and when she couldn't track it anymore, she gave up. Or maybe she just resumed the search somewhere else."

"How come we didn't know about this?" Giles asked, shaking his head. "And how come you DO know about it?"

"Few do know about it since she didn't have time to do much damage in Sunnydale. Nothing that got on radar, anyway. The Council was researching it though; I found some information about it in their files. It was their biggest project when… um, at the time I was there, so I read everything they had on it. The rest, I picked up through contacts."

"Are we, er, sure that this goddess won't come back to Sunnydale? Do we have any idea of her powers." Angel shrugged.

"I don't know. If she is still looking for her Key, I guess she would follow whatever track she has. I don't really think she's hiding out. She's ancient, pre-dating the written word, and supposedly extremely strong."

"So, what, you can't take her down?" Xander jibed.

"Get a grip, Xander," Angel snapped, tired of the boy's ever lasting mocking and interruptions. "I've never met her, so I don't know exactly how strong she is, but let me say this much; if the Council wasn't exaggerating hugely… We could probably throw all we have at her without it even hurting her."

"Goody she's not after us, then," Cordelia stated.

"Yeah, this is a lovely story and all, but how does it have to do with Buffy going back to Sunnydale?" Xander said.

"The thing is, even if the goddess is gone and won't attempt to open the portal to her world, the walls are still weakened on this particular night."

"When?"

"22nd of May."

"That's still weeks away."

"Right. Of course, there are powerful demon groups that won't let this opportunity slip past them." Angel swallowed. This was hard. The guilt over what he HAD done was bad enough – to be forced to give a detailed explanation of what he hadn't been able to go through with… it was a new unpleasant experience. "Buffy and I… we were planning to join forces with a group that is planning to open the Hellmouth."

Everyone stood silent for a moment.

"YOU joining other demons?" Xander said. "What's the matter, old age preventing you from starring in the apocalypse yourself?!"

"We were planning to betray the demons, go through with it ourselves," Angel said quietly.

"Well, at least that's more like it," Xander muttered.

"What is it with you and gateways to hell!" Cordelia exclaimed. "I mean, once sure, but…"

"Well you know, trial and error," Xander said casually, shrugging. "If at first you don't succeed, kill the girl that stopped you the last time and try again." Angel glared at him.

"Angel," Giles said, ignoring Xander, "do you have any specific details on the ritual? How will the Hellmouth be opened? It's not an easy task." Angel grimaced.

"I don't know all of it I'm afraid. First of all, the five demons will sacrifice themselves, their bodies is a sacrifice of flesh. They will also need a sacrifice of blood from two humans, a man and a woman, and something called the Amulet of Proserpexa, it's supposed to be in Sunnydale too."

"Proserpexa?" Willow asked, quirking a brow.

"I know her," Anya interrupted. Everyone turned to look at her. "Okay, not in person, but I know _of_ her."

"Who is she?" Wesley asked.

"Way up there in the hierarchy of she-demons. In to the burning and destroying. Her followers wanted to use her effigy to burn the earth to a cinder once. She had a temple in Sunnydale, but it was swallowed by the big earthquake in 1932."

"That's when the Master was trapped in his subterranean church, right?" Willow said. Angel nodded.

"Yeah. Apparently that wasn't the only thing that was buried."

"All bets on this amulet being buried in the same spot as the temple?" Faith suggested. Everyone agreed.

"Seems sensible," Wesley said.

"There is one other thing they need," Angel said carefully. Now came the hardest part. Everyone turned to him for further information.

"What is it, Angel?"

"They need my blood."


	51. HELLMOUTH REVISITED

* * *

**CHAPTER 51: HELLMOUTH REVISITED **

* * *

And yet again an uncomfortable silence filled the lobby. Angel used the seconds of stunned silence to quietly count the many old books piled on the countertop while waiting for the explosion of a comeback that was surely due any moment. He got to twenty-eight before it happened.

"Your blood – they need YOUR blood?" Cordelia glared harshly at Angel. "Why?" He looked at her, a pained look on his face.

"For this ritual they need the blood of the last person closing the Hellmouth. That's me."

"Uh, Angel? Your old buddy Attila the Rockhead may have had a big hell sucking mouth, but that wasn't _the_ Hellmouth, remember?" Xander pointed out.

"No, not Acathla." Angel looked at Giles. "Remember when the Sisterhood of Jhe opened it about two years ago?" Giles furrowed his brow for a second and then nodded slowly as Angel went on. "I was the key role in closing it that time."

"Brag much?" Xander said with a snort.

"No, no, he's right," Giles said. "As I recall, you were at home that particular night, Xander." Xander frowned, reminiscing.

"I SO wasn't, in fact I…"

"But Angel, you're good again. They won't get your blood, right?" Willow said, her voice small and insecure. He avoided looking at them.

"Well, that's just it. When a vampire is made, the blood of the sire remains in its system for months, years sometimes. It all depends… In this case, Buffy's own blood can act as mine…" he trailed off. There was no need to continue – everyone understood perfectly. Xander looked at Angel in disgust, all his emotions rushing to the surface again at the mention of what he had done to Buffy. The exchange of bodily fluids thing – it was too much. Giles desperately tried to look even and calm, for once refusing the urge to clean his glasses.

"Is there any way to close the Hellmouth after it's been opened?" Willow asked. Angel nodded.

"It will be a portal, created by the power of Proserpexa's medallion. A mystical force field kind of deal. My guess, not many earthly beings would survive passing through the energy, but…"

"The creatures waiting to rise as soon as the gateway opens surely will," Wesley filled in.

"Right. But my blood – and Buffy's, I guess, should close it." Angel fell silent, inevitably remembering Acathla but trying to shake it off. Reminiscing wouldn't do them any good.

"Alright." Angel noted that Giles had turned slightly pale, and who could blame him. Well, not that _he_ was one to talk either, about being pale. "Normally I would suggest we regroup and consider this… but right now I think we need to get to Buffy as soon as possible. Even if there is supposedly plenty of time before this ritual is to take place, the sooner we can get to her, the better."

"Yeah," Angel agreed. "We should leave tonight, there is still plenty of time to get to Sunnydale before sunup. Just pack up everything we need to bring." He glanced at the object of salvation on the desk. "And don't forget to bring the spell book."

-

* * *

-

Just over an hour later Angel loaded the last bag, this one filled with weapons, in the back of his car. Okay, so maybe the weapons part of his luggage was a little heavy – but there was nothing wrong with coming prepared after all. It wasn't like they were going to Sunnydale on holiday. Sure, if things went _smoothly_ they wouldn't have to do much fighting that required heavy weaponry, but how often did things go smoothly?

Everyone was set up and ready to go. Locking up the hotel Angel glanced at the others as they divided themselves between the cars, at first he thought he would be alone in his Plymouth, but he was wrong. Faith grinned at him as she leapt into the passenger seat, this time not occupied by Spike.

He managed a thin smile back at her. Faith had grown to be a good friend. There was a sort of understanding between them, one that he had never shared with anybody else – not even Buffy. Of course, if they did manage to bring Buffy back, that wouldn't be true anymore, and he hated himself for that. He never wanted to share _that_ particular understanding with Buffy.

For a fleeting moment he considered whether he should feel guilty about the past events – well, _his_ actions that had led to the past events – and how they had affected Faith, driven her to break out of jail. She had done what a lot of people failed to do, despite everything she had made the decision to turn her life around, to try to atone for her past. Now she was an escaped convict because of him.

And prison, in the human world of rules and boundaries was what was considered proper redemption. Well, calling it _redemption_ would be a real stretch. In the real world, jail wasn't designed for rehabilitation, not designed for the people that had already decided that they wanted to try to change and make amends for their evil, merely a holding facility for those that didn't follow the human laws.

According to those laws, Faith would be incarcerated for the rest of her young life, possibly her whole life. She, unlike some other people – to remain unnamed – didn't have eternity to come to terms with herself and her past, after all. What point in her change if she would be punished for the rest of her life but never be able actually do something to make up for her past? He shook himself as if to relieve himself of the thoughts. Done is done, he told himself. You can't change the past, only work to make the future better. Which he did, in his own way, barring soul related recidivism, and Faith did, too, in her own way.

Willow, Xander, Anya and all their packing fit into Giles' car – at first, Spike seemed to consider squeezing in between Anya and a large potted plant that she apparently had taken the time to buy in L.A. on some occasion – but he quickly changed his mind. He glared briefly at Angel and Faith before he got into the backseat, making himself comfortable, pulling a can of beer from his coat pocket and opening it. There was a pop and a slight hissing and Spike threw his head back, taking a big swig out of the can.

"What are you doing?" Angel, approaching the car, asked with slight irritation in his voice as he let a look of concern run over the smooth black leather backseat. He had seen – and smelled – Spike's DeSoto, and that was a fate he didn't want for his own car.

"Sitting in your car – with beer," Spike stated.

"I can see that," Angel replied, annoyed. "Why? More specifically, why in _my_ car?"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself," he snorted, putting his arm up and letting it rest on the backrest, the can balancing dangerously between his thumb and index finger. "Watcherboy Senior over there still hasn't realized that the sodding car _can_ drive over 50 mph, plus I don't really fancy spending a couple of hours listening to Xander's nannering. And it's not like I'm gonna rub knees with Charlie and Watcherboy Junior when I can have this whole backseat to myself." He took another swig from his beer, and then grinned at Angel's expression. "Not to mention, this way I get to annoy you. Big plus." He let his beer swing threateningly back and forth between his fingers, grinning mischievously.

"You spill, I'll use your underwear to clean it up," Angel threatened. "With you still in them."

Angel watched as Gunn handed Wesley, who was already in place inside his truck, his cane and decided everyone seemed to have chosen with whom they wanted to ride. Even if he knew that she liked his car better, Cordelia hadn't hesitated before picking Gunn's truck – she was mad at him again. Or was it still? No time for analyzing it. It was probably for the best anyhow. Angel got in behind the wheel and headed out. No time to lose.

After a few minutes on the road, a grinning Faith turned around and watched Spike as his gaze practically licked the interior of Angel's car.

"Jealous of his ride too?" she asked in a mocking voice. Spike's head snapped up and he shot her a dirty glare. "Man, you got a serious inferiority complex going on, don't you?" Spike snorted.

"Nah, like me own car better," he said, unconvincingly.

"Yeah, it has that impenetrable reek of old alcohol and smoke going for it," Angel retorted, without looking back and, well, looking in the rear-view mirror would be really useless. "What _is_ that you got smeared on the windows, anyway?"

"Some of us likes to get around in the daytime, you git," Spike said. "Just 'cause I don't fancy spending sunny rides huddled in the back seat under a blanket… And what's with a vampire owning a sodding convertible? Bloody sadism, that."

"Where is your car anyway? Since it's obviously so much better than mine, why not bring it?"

"Would've, if I remembered where I left it. Too sodding drunk last time I drove it."

Angel opted for silence. He had the feeling this was going to be a long trip.

-

* * *

-

Angel exhaled an unnecessary sigh of relief when they finally swept past the "Welcome to Sunnydale"-sign. Actually, the ride hadn't taken that long, but it sure felt like it due to the constant bickering between Faith and Spike.

Angel had quickly maneuvered himself out of the discussion and instead observed them in silence, not really feeling like making merry conversation. Well, not that he ever did.

At the turnoff that led up to the mansion, just outside of town, Angel stopped the car. Gunn and Giles did the same. They all got out to confer further. As soon as Angel got out of the car, inhaling a deep pointless breath of fresh non-smog-filled night air, he felt her. She was around alright, probably watching them from a distance right now. He hadn't really expected anything else. By leaving in the spur of the moment, going back to her hometown, she had gained the upper hand. She had gotten a few hours head start and she had the obvious advantage of knowing exactly where they were and where they were going to be. Buffy had hunted in Sunnydale for many years now, which would make her potentially even more dangerous here than in LA. Of course, she wasn't the only one who had hunted in Sunnydale.

"Okay," Angel said. "It's only a few hours left until dawn, we should probably just pack it in and regroup tomorrow." He paused, rephrasing. "Well, you know, later today. "Giles, we can meet in your magic shop to discuss tomorrow." He frowned. "It doesn't have sewer access, does it?"

"No, no, I'm afraid it doesn't," Giles confirmed.

"No danger there," Spike said. "Been working around that since the beginning, just grab a blanket and make a run for it."

"Yeah, Spike has always enjoyed frisky morning jogs in the sunshine," Xander said. "I'm sure you can do it too." He nodded enthusiastically. "And if you fail, we'll find some way to work through our pain." Anya swatted him in the arm. Xander winced.

"Honey, remember what we talked about? How my new one-eyed-ness gives me right to my share of pick on the Responsible One?"

Angel glared at them both, not dignifying Xander with a response. "No that's okay, I'll just take my car. There is shadow outside the shop at noon."

"Alright. Does everyone know where they are going for tonight?" Giles was looking especially at Gunn, Wesley, Cordelia and Faith – those who didn't have homes in Sunnydale.

"Are we all going home with him?" Cordelia nodded at Angel, looking very unsatisfied with the notion of that. "Not like I have anything against the creepy, musty mansion or anything… well, actually, I do, but more to the point – you know, Pointed Comedienne Girl can come and go as she pleases."

"You can bunk up with me if you like," Willow suggested. "I mean, I… It's not a big room, but there's always room for a mattress on the floor."

"A dorm room?" Cordelia grimaced but forced herself to hide it. "That's… _nice_ of you Will. Sure."

"I'll drive you there," Giles nodded. "And, er, and I'm sure I can find a place to put you up at my flat if you like, Wesley," he offered and Wesley nodded his thanks.

"Personally I got nothing against the mansion, man," Gunn said and Faith nodded in agreement.

"Good. Guess we'll go there then," Angel settled. He looked at Giles. "So we'll meet tomorrow around noon." With that he and Faith got back in his car. Cordelia and Wesley crammed into Giles' car and Gunn took off towards the mansion in his truck. Spike remained standing, staring.

"So who's gonna drive me to my crypt?"

-

* * *

-

"Ooh, I'm thinking some serious cleaning is needed if anyone that actually needs to breathe is going to hang their hats, or stakes as it may be, here for a while," Faith said with a frown as she entered the mansion, dragging a finger across one of the tables and holding it up for emphasis, showing a thick layer of dust.

"Yeah, maybe you could… hire a cleaning lady or something," Gunn said, wrinkling his nose and faking a sneeze. Angel stepped in behind them, closing the door and putting down the bags with weapons. He could see alright in the dark. Everything seemed to be where he had left it and by the scent, he was pretty sure Buffy hadn't been around since she got back.

Faith moved on to the thick curtains that covered the French doors leading out into the atrium and moved them for emphasis, waving away the cloud of dust that dispersed from them. She looked amused.

"I can just see that ad now," she replied jokingly, looking at Gunn. "Former European Scourge in search of discreet cleaner. Experience dealing blood splattered refrigerators and sticky demon fluids an asset. Must know the plural of apocalypse. Please forward reply to Crawford Street Mansion, PS, yes, the creepy looking one."

Gunn grinned and Angel sighed, sitting back in the couch, not minding the dust that whirled up when he did so. He _didn't_ need to breathe after all.

"Get some rest," he said, not in the mood for jokes. "It's only a few hours left until sunrise and odds are we have another long day ahead of us."

"Gotcha," Faith said, then paused, a thoughtful frown on her face. "What _is_ the plural of apocalypse?"

-

* * *

-

Buffy was lurking. She had learned the fine art of sneaking around quickly, and it had been a useful skill several times tonight. Supernatural stealth may have been a part of the Slayer package to a degree, but not like this. Her senses and movements the ones of a predator,_nothing_ escaped her. Literally or figuratively speaking.

As soon as she felt him, she had moved close to him to watch. Just watch – for now. She was on her home turf now, after all. Not an inch of this town, above or below ground that she didn't know. She wanted to play the game on her own terms.

She had already prepared a welcoming gift.

She had found the girl at the Bronze earlier – her name was Janice. Dancing and laughing with her friends. Reminding Buffy in a sickening fashion of her own self around that age. She had been a friend of Dawn's, as she recalled. Buffy had watched her from the shadows inside the club and followed her outside, into a dark alley one would have to be unbelievably stupid to step right into, alone, in Sunnydale at night.

She had chased the girl at a leisure pace, finally stopping her feeble attempt of escape by catching up with her and smacking her head against a dumpster. Of course, the girl was just knocked out at the time, not dead. Before she had knocked her out she had enjoyed seeing the look on her face, the look of confusion as she recognized her friend's big sister and the look of horror when she realized that her life may be coming to an end. Buffy had drained her, almost completely. For a second she considered turning her as well, but no, it would be of no purpose right now. That wasn't what she had in mind for her.

When she finally was sure everyone was asleep inside the mansion – she couldn't hear anyone moving around anymore, she moved soundlessly into the garden, carrying the body. She positioned the corpse propped up against the wall where she knew that the sunlight would shine on her face later. She picked a few jasmine flowers from the shrubs in the garden and placed them in the girl's hair. Perfect. She stopped and admired the setup for a second before retreating into the shadows for a well earned rest.


	52. DEMONS TO SEE, PEOPLE TO KILL

* * *

**CHAPTER 52: DEMONS TO SEE, PEOPLE TO KILL **

* * *

Angel woke up abruptly after a few restless hours of sleep filled with nightmares. Well, any normal person would call them nightmare. Any_person_ at all would. He dreamt of Buffy and himself and the time they had spent together, the things they had done together… the hunt, the kill, the terror. His demon enjoyed it. _He_ enjoyed it. Not exactly something he could divulge to the people around him.

He hadn't thought he would be able to sleep at all, but the events of these last few weeks had obviously taken their toll. He quickly got to his feet, a little disoriented. He could feel the heat of the sun outside, shining against the thick curtains. He couldn't hear anybody else moving around in the house, so Faith and Gunn must still be asleep.

As soon as he stepped into the main room, he felt the strong scent of fresh human blood. Instantly he felt a pang of concern – she couldn't have snuck in under his nose and hurt someone, could she?

He followed the scent through the room and as soon as he pulled the curtains to the atrium apart, he saw her. Propped up against the wall her blank, dead face turned in his direction, empty eyes staring at him. She couldn't be more than fifteen or sixteen. Her long, shining hair was neatly arranged to show off the bite mark on her neck. Angel realized that the girl was sitting almost exactly where he – Angelus – had had Buffy cornered during their swordfight almost three years ago. She could have died then and there – she didn't, but Angel was pretty sure that the irony behind the placement of this body was well planned. After all, he had taught her well. An artist must pay attention to detail.

Carefully avoiding the deadly rays of morning sunlight he grabbed a blanket and threw it over the girl. He stood there for a minute, pondering. Yet another person, barely more than a child, would never make it home. Her friends and family would never see her alive again. This death might not be by his hands directly, but it was close enough. Upon hearing footsteps, he turned and went back inside, meeting a sleepy-eyed Gunn.

"Hey man," he greeted. Angel nodded silently. Gunn's gaze traveled past Angel and out into the atrium, settling on the covered body.

"Is that…?" he began.

"Yeah," Angel said tiredly. "A welcome back present I guess."

-

* * *

-

Buffy strode slowly, as silently as she could through the reeking sewer tunnel. Not that the smell of sewer had ever been her favorite, but it was definitely more impenetrable and stinky with a vampire enhanced nose. Ew.

She would have preferred to drive the dark metallic green Porsche that she had stolen before she left Los Angeles – but with the sun being up, there wasn't much of a choice. She had recon do to, demons to meet. She had heard Angel talk about meeting up in the Little Shop of Horrors at noon, she wanted to be as close as she could – to pick up what they were saying if possible.

She wasn't stupid, and as much as she hated to admit it, Angel could be pretty much as clever with a soul as he was without one when he put his mind to it. If that meekly version of him found even a smidge of something that could restore her soul and ruin her plans, he wouldn't give up until it worked. That was something she definitely wanted to nip in the bud. In fact, she was currently considering who to… "nip" first. She smirked to herself. These private pep moments almost made the mucky walk worth while.

She was heading to a tunnel close to Tracy Street. The Traklah demons had told them to meet up with them in what had been the nest of a Ghora demon. Until they came along, that was. Now it was the former nest of an ex-Ghora demon.

The night when the ritual could be performed was quickly approaching, and everything had to be ready. Buffy knew that Angel already knew her plans – it had been his to begin with, after all, and therefore, she had to take measures to ensure that he couldn't sabotage her hell gate opening fun. With any luck, he would already be back at her side as the first demon made its way out of the Hellmouth into the world.

Of course, first she would have to find another way to bring her demon back. Jenoff had failed miserably in taking Angel's soul and had ended up being cut apart and packed up like beef jerky. Incinerated beef jerky. Not that it had really surprised her. If you need something done properly, you have to do it yourself…

This should be the place. She crept soundlessly to the opening in the tunnel and peeked inside. Just as she thought; the five demons were there, waiting for her. She hadn't met them before, but they looked just like what Angelus had mockingly described. They were big – at least eight feet tall, green and scaly with pointed ears, uneven sharp teeth with big canines protruding from their mouths and claw like hands. Pretty much the look of a run of the mill demon, she had slain hundreds of creatures similar to these in her day.

So these were the guys that would sacrifice themselves for the ritual. Buffy couldn't quite decide if it was stupid or honorable. She settled on stupid. No fun in being a sacrificial lamb. Putting on her cockiest smirk, she sauntered towards them. At first they stiffened but soon they relaxed, seeming to know who she was.

"Hey boys-beings, whatever the hell you might be. Rumor has it you're the ones a girl should talk to about the up and coming apocalypse."

"You be childe made from Angelus?" one of the demons began in faltering English. Buffy frowned. Amazing, demons that were too stupid to even learn the language properly actually thought they would be able to pull off the end of the world? None of them seemed like the leader either. Maybe they had been counting on Angelus leading them? Strange. Something about that didn't sound right either.

"Yeah, that's me," she replied lightly.

"Good. We did plans. You help." Buffy smother an unnecessary sigh, trying not to show her irritation.

"Yeah, sure. What should I do?"

"You will only wait until we have amulet of Proserpexa, she who was mighty demon." Buffy nodded slowly, indulgently. Angelus had told her about the amulet.

"And the reason why I can't fetch the amulet? I'm kind of bored here and, no offense, I think I'll get there faster than you. Just point the direction and I'll be on my way."

"You be impudence," one of the demon's said. "You do this then sun do dust from you." Buffy glared at him.

"Gee, how could I forget that? Oh wait, I didn't! I could always wait until tonight."

"You will do nothing. The one who will search amulet arrive tonight. Until then, we collect precious blood from Scourge."

"Yeah, about that…"

"Us know. The Scourge has left us. His blood still is in your veins. It will do."

She smirked. She hadn't known that her blood could act as Angel's. Not there hadn't been ways around it even if it couldn't. She would simply have gathered a little Bloody Mary minus the Mary from her lover somehow, but this sure was easier.

"In that case," she held out her arm, "where do you want it?"

One of the demons handed her a dark ceramic vase and a dagger.

She put the sharp blade to her palm and made a deep cut. She watched the cut as it reddened and blood welled up, making a sharp contrast against her pale skin. She closed her hand to help the blood to drip into the vase. After a while, when it was full, she put the cork back into place, handed the vase back to the demons and closed her wound by licking it, savoring the rich taste of blood.

"You come with us. Highness will come soon. You greet Highness, you behave.

Buffy furrowed her brow. "So, this 'Highness' of whom you speak so… badly. And, who you evidently consider more suitable for the amulet digging business… Who is it?"

"Highness be almighty. Highness be above all. The Beast. The God." Buffy sighed, making a dismissive gesture with her hand. The worst of the worst, baddest of the bads, evilest evil of all the evils – yada yada, she had heard it all before.

"Yeah, right, sure. Whatever. That's very unique and all. A name, maybe?"

"Highness is the magnificent Glorificus."

-

* * *

-

"So; where do we start?"

Willow was the one that uttered the simple but well justified and necessary question. She, Giles, Xander, Anya, Cordelia, Gunn and Wesley all sat around the big table in the Magic Box. Spike was perched on the countertop to Giles' dismay, but since the shop wasn't open for business at the time being and because they had much, much more important things to discuss, he had wasted little energy with trying to get the vampire away from there. Faith stood propped up against a book shelf. Angel was pacing back and forth, his face pulled into his usual scowl.

He was edgy, restless. He wanted this over with. At least he wanted to be out there, not cooped up inside sitting on his hands and waiting around for nightfall like a useless fool. He wanted _not_ to be around all of these people day in and day out. Not to be around their coursing blood and pounding heartbeats and Xander and his pestering. It was in the boy's nature to mock, scoff, taunt and remark, always had been, but he had no idea how close to the abyss he danced every time he did it with him. Angel knew. Very well.

The stress of the situation, the forced vicinity to all these people practically around the clock, the impending doom, dead people piling up, Buffy roaming the town a soulless monster, dreaming of being back at her side as soon as he closed his eyes – the whole thing was getting to him.

"We have two priorities," he said, still pacing. "We need to capture Buffy, and we have to make sure the ritual to open the Hellmouth can't take place."

"Yeah, that'd be the goals," Gunn pointed out. "How about a plan to make it happen?" Angel was silent for a moment, seeming to think, or maybe pulling himself together.

"Bringing Buffy should take care of all our problems at once," he said. "If we can restore her soul our biggest problem will be gone, and we won't have to worry about the demon's opening the Hellmouth."

"You sure about that?" Angel shrugged.

"They need Buffy's or my blood, it won't work without it. That's what the demons told me." He stopped for a minute. "It's just... there is something that bothers me about all this."

"What?" Cordelia asked urgently. "We don't have time to play the cryptic guy game."

"The demons. They were Traklah's."

She stared blankly at him. "So?"

"Traklah's?" Wesley cut in. "Are you sure?" Angel nodded. "How odd."

"Evil demons wanting to open the gates of hell? Not odd. Not even unusual. We've seen it before, remember," Cordelia said, looking at Angel.

"Traklah's aren't big thinkers," Wesley tried to explain. "They're big and strong, adjust easy to all forms of climate and accommodations, but I wouldn't consider them for a project this big. They usually follow someone… well, more intelligent demons. One could think of them as mercenary, ready to work for anyone offering a good deal."

"They're just flunkies," Angel summarized. Wesley nodded.

"Indeed so. I don't see them putting an event as big as this to motion by themselves. Frankly I think it's more believable that there is someone else acting as the leader." Angel nodded. He had come to the same disturbing conclusion himself.

"Maybe Deadboy here isn't telling us the whole story," Xander suggested with a hint of bitterness in his voice. "Maybe he hired the big-brawns. Would explain it." Angel shot him a sharp look.

"No, that's not it," he snapped. "I didn't think about this until just recently."

"Angel, these demons…" Wesley went on, ignoring the ever growing tension in the room, especially between Angel and Xander. "Was it you and Buffy who sought them in the first place, or was it perhaps the demons that came looking for you?"

"Buffy wasn't even in on it in the beginning. I overheard the demons talking about what they were going to do, the next day I tracked them down… come to think of it, they seemed very willing to let me in on their planning. Maybe a little TOO willing."

Wesley frowned. "Hm. You weren't… suspicious?" Angel shrugged uneasily and shook his head.

"Traklah's are stupid, and we were gonna betray them anyway."

"'Course he wasn't suspicious," Spike chimed in. "Angelus opinion of himself sticks up higher than his hair. Flies higher than Dru's bloody stars, it does."

"Okay, so your blown up self-reliance told you that the demons simply would cut you in on their apocalypse… because, what? Because you're so scary, or because it would be an honor to sacrifice their own lives and give you the credit for it… Watch out Einstein, this boy is one fire!" Cordelia scoffed.

"Angel," Wesley said. "Do you realize what this means?"

"Yes," Angel pointed out. "I do, but I suppose you're going to explain it anyway."

"It means that we are possibly about to face something even _worse_ than Buffy and the opening of the Hellmouth, namely the leader of all of this. Assuming that you, or Buffy for that matter, only were wanted because your blood is the final ingredient in this ritual and the Traklah demons only are the muscle, and the sacrifice… I wouldn't want to know who is leading this whole operation. Whomever, or whatever for that matter, it is it certainly has to be powerful." Everyone nodded in agreement.

"Well, since this big evil hasn't made itself known yet, we can at least hope it only wants to open the Hellmouth…" Angel began.

"Excuse me, I must have heard that wrong. It sounded like you said '_only_ open the Hellmouth'," Cordelia asked. "Like that's not enough?"

"I mean – if that's all it wants, we can stop it by getting to that amulet and destroying it as soon as possible." He looked at Wesley. "What do you think, Wes?"

"Sounds about right," he agreed. "How do you suggest we approach the situation?"

"I don't think we should split up. I don't have to spell out for anyone what Buffy will do as long as she is loose – but until we put a definite stop to the ritual, everyone is in danger. Not just of the Sunnydale residents, but the world. We need to find out where the amulet of Proserpexa is buried." He looked in Giles' direction. "Any hope of finding that out before sunset?"

"Er, ah, perhaps. If we assume that the amulet is buried in the same spot as the temple, it shouldn't be too difficult to find it." Giles turned to the gang.

"Research time then," Willow said, already on her way to the ladder that led up to the shelves holding Giles' private collection of books.


	53. ENTER A GOD

* * *

**CHAPTER 53: ENTER A GOD **

* * *

The blonde woman moved through the corridor with long, graceful steps. Power was practically radiating off of her. Her looks may at first glance be the one of an everyday, ordinary woman, one you might pass on the street without looking twice – but to anyone taking a closer look, it would be evident that it wasn't the case. She let the slightest wave of disgust wash over her face as she eyed the interior in the apartment building. Hardly suitable accommodations for a god, but it would have to do. Means to an end.

She casually swung the door to her apartment open and entered. Upon seeing the scene inside she stopped in her tracks, cocking her head. Someone – a short, cocky looking blonde that she already knew would cause trouble, was standing in the middle of the main room with the five Traklah demons – her minions, servants and sacrifices – surrounding her. She took a good look, mentally sizing her up.

While Glory herself was neatly dressed in the latest fashion that this measly small town held at her disposal, the threads that this angry looking little princess wore were… rougher. Dark colors, leather, boots – so obviously a fighter, she thought. Oh well, she would soon get to experience that just because she looked like some sort of lumberjack, it didn't mean that she was stronger one of the two. Though she most certainly thought so, judging by her cocky smile.

"Look what the lizards dragged in," she said slyly with a sardonic grin. The other blonde advanced at her, her green eyes darkening. Ooh, seemed she had stepped on someone's little tail.

"Stop." She simply put out a fist and let the smaller woman walk right into it – which she did, with a thud that _should_ knock the air from her lungs. She stumbled backwards but stayed on her feet. "Chill blondie," she said, shaking her hand. "That almost hurt my hand. Well, okay, not really but, hello? Rude? Even if you were raised as one, it's about time to lose the street urchin 'tude, don't you think?"

"Your benevolence, mighty Glorificus," one of the Traklah demons acknowledged. She took no notice of it. Their pronunciation may have gotten better and their manners as well, but they were still just big, stupid street-trash – well, fiery hell-pits-trash, not worthy of as much as sweating in her shadow even if they crawled a thousand miles on broken glass just to get there. But, again. Means to an end. With the Key annoyingly missing this was her best shot at getting what she wanted.

"Glorificus?" the other blonde said, snorting. "Pfft. This is your almighty goddess? Please, she looks like a skankier version of me without the fashion sense and on a _really_ bad hair day. How come SHE gets to have a leading role in this and I'm just a lackey and one of the ingredients? That caught Glory's attention.

"This… is Angelus?" she snorted. "I thought you were supposed to be intimidating, good looking – and male. Don't know exactly what you are, but it doesn't fit into any of the above listed categories." This time the Traklah's practically had to hold Buffy back.

"Whoo, feisty!" Glory said with a grin. "Geez, if you're so into the male thing I'm sure there are suitable clinics that could help you out with that." Suddenly she dropped the smile and sniffed the air.

"At least you're a vampire. I'll tell you what; you have ten seconds to tell me who you are and why you are substituting the real deal before I get a little more forceful. See, I've always had this thing where I wondered how many pieces you can cut your kind into before you, you know, bite the dust? I'll have to let the claw boys manhandle, well, creature-handle you to more suitable accommodations first of course, 'cause, getting your blood and ashes all over my furniture? Eeww."

Buffy stood tensed, angry, ready to fight and considering a snappy comeback but found herself at a severe disadvantage – if she tried to take on the five Traklah demons and this woman-god-demon-whatever Queen Skank, her unlife may very well be a lot more un- and a lot less life. She wasn't stupid, after all. She had enough fighting experience to recognize overwhelming odds. So even though every muscle in her body itched for lashing out and hearing bones go crunch, she forced herself to relax, deciding to play this one carefully.

"Okay, I'll play," she said at last as she shrugged of the hard claw like hands of the Traklah. "After all," wouldn't wanna bruise your goons here," she couldn't stop herself from adding with a sneer. "So I'll play the introduction game. I'm Buffy, former vampire slayer, sired by Angelus. He's not here because his soul has been restored, again…" she made a face. "But since my blood works just as well, I guess you'll have to have me around instead. Angel's off the menu. So to speak. He and his little cartoon like buddies are probably working to sabotage this ritual as we speak."

"Yeah, whatever," Glory said, already losing her interest in the irritating little blonde. "Did you say vampire slayer? Uhh, how unbelievable common!" Buffy shrugged. Not like she was sorry to be rid of the title.

"Okay, since we're such best pals now… I think you should go watch over the do-gooders – we don't want anyone interfering with the end of the world, do we? You can kill 'em if you want to, in fact, I'd be delighted if you did." Buffy's expression hardened. So poor little Tinkerbelle didn't like to be bossed around. Aww.

"You want me to run your little errands?" she practically spat, her dissatisfaction evident.

"I prefer to think of them as _our_ little errands," Glory said with a fake smile, waving briefly in the general direction of the door. "Run along now, or I might get cranky." Buffy hesitated before she slowly moved out of the fancy set up apartment. It was obvious that she didn't trust Glory. She even shot suspicious glares over her shoulder all the way to the door.

"Magnificent," one of the Traklah demons spoke when Buffy was gone and safely out of hearing range. "You be sure this creature is to trust?"

"Of course not," Glory replied lightly without looking at the ugly thing. "Isn't that obvious? No, of course it isn't to your little feeble brains… Sorry, I should have remembered not to count on you when it comes to the thinking department… Did you collect her blood like I told you?"

"Yes, Magnificent."

"Good. That's all I need from the little vamp tramp. I don't want her around when the ritual is performed – do you understand me?"

"What do then, goddess?"

"We kill her." Glory let the corner of her mouth curl into a small smirk that slowly grew larger, crazier. "A lot."

-

* * *

- 

"Go alphabetize your hair products or something," Spike whined from his perch on the countertop. He gestured, mimicing Angel's back and forth path across the magic shop. "It's like a sodding vampire shooting gallery in here, and believe me, I don't need the temptation."

"No one's forcing you to be here, Spike. Give me something to hit, and I'll stop," Angel said, irritation clear in his voice. The gang had been researching for several hours, and the sun was already setting. Time wasn't exactly on their side. Angel's frustration grew larger by the minute.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, tinsel toes," Spike said with a smirk. "Scooby gang here is highly skilled when it comes to discovering boring facts and details about…" he frowned, thinking for a second. "Well, can't actually think of anything they do that's not bloody boring. Sure you'll get to beat something to a pulp at the end of the day." Angel stopped pacing and gave Spike a look.

"What was that; your interpretation of a pep talk?" Spike shrugged.

"Call me the Encourager… On second thought, don't, cause then I'll have to kill you." Angel frowned and shook his head dismissively.

"Here it is!" Wesley exclaimed from his seat at the table. He made a gesture towards the book he was reading. Angel approached him.

"Finally. Does it say something about a location?" Wesley quickly eyed the text in front of him again.

"Ah, yes. The temple of Proserpexa was supposedly last seen on a hill called Kingman's Bluff…" he frowned. "While I admit that I never took the time to learn about every single location in Sunnydale while living here, I've never heard of a place with that name." He looked in the direction of Giles, Willow and Xander.

"Doesn't ring a bell," Xander said. Giles shook his head and Willow looked miserable. Fearing that they would have to waste time with looking up where Kingman's Bluff was located, Wesley looked at Angel.

"Angel? Do you have any idea where this hill is?" Angel looked at them with an expression even more somber than usual.

"Yeah, I do."

-

* * *

-

"Knew there had to be a reason you were drawn to this joint in the first place," Spike commented. He, Angel and Faith were shuffling along the path that came from the mansion and led up to a hill, THE hill – Kingman's Bluff.

All carrying shovels, they were ready for some digging. Angel had also opted for bringing a fighting axe, just in case. In Sunnydale one never knew what sort of trouble might creep up on them. Literally. Should they encounter the Traklah's or anything else, he wanted to be prepared.

"If this hill is stuffed with the energy of an ancient ol' evil, it sounds right up your alley."

Angel couldn't protest. When he had first gone looking after at new place to set up in after the factory had been burnt down, he had wanted something big, stylish, old and outside the city – but Sunnydale had hundreds of miles of "outside the city". It wasn't at all far fetched that the buried energy of Proserpexa had driven him in this direction.

"A hill," Faith muttered, treading on briskly, glancing at the long ever rising path that stretched out before them. "Isn't this more of a mountain? What's the difference, anyway?"

"All 'bout the size, luv," Spike smirked.

"And here I thought size didn't matter," Faith grinned back mischievously

"No one believes that. 'Course it does. Just look at old Haggis here. Every time his forehead swells he gets a little dumber, if such a thing is even possible."

"Don't drag me into this. Let's just say you keep everything about me _and_ my forehead out of your mouth from now on," Angel shot back, then pausing for a moment. "I'll think about rephrasing that."

"Bloody right you will," Spike sniffed and they kept walking in silence.

"Here we are," Angel said and pointed towards a shrubbery. "Right through there."

"What are we waiting for then?" Spike swung his shovel and stalked off through the bushes. Angel looked at Faith with a frown before they hurried after him.

Even if it was pitch dark, Angel spotted something further up the path. Not something as much as someone. He hurried after Spike and grabbed his coat to stop him from rushing into trouble without even knowing it.

"What the hell are you doing, you…"

"Shh! Keep quiet. Look." Angel pointed to the top of the hill where a woman was standing. She was neatly dressed and Angel could sense the smell of perfume even at the long distance. Not exactly the looks of someone that was supposedly there to grab a shovel and dig all the way down to Proserpexa's temple.

"A blonde. Is it B?" Faith squinted, straining to see, but her vision didn't begin to compare with a vampire's.

"No," Angel said. "Not Buffy."

"Human at least," Spike stated. Angel frowned and nodded briefly, unsure. Well, the woman did have a heartbeat, but something wasn't right. She didn't smell like an ordinary human.

"Hmmm," he answered simply.

"Maybe she's just here for the view," Faith suggested, half joking. "There's a great view over the city, right?"

"Yeah, right, maybe," Angel said, not really believing it. They watched in silence as the woman moved back and forth on a small spot on top of the hill.

"Bugger this, sittin' around playin' peekaboo. We don't have time for this," Spike said with something that could perhaps be interpreted as concern in his voice. Angel gave him a look.

"You're aware that we could be facing the end of the world if we can't stop this ritual, right?" Spike glared at him.

"Yeah, Chairman of the Repressing. I never wanted to end the world, that's your bloody tune, remember? Meself – I like it here."

"Guys," Faith interrupted. "Look."

The three watched in silence as the ordinary looking woman moved with lightning speed on one particular spot on the hill. They saw less and less of her as a hole quickly formed and dirt piled up around it.

"Bloody hell," Spike said simply. "Must be using magic of some kind," he continued. "I say we break up this party right bloody quick before she nicks the trinket and gets cracking." Faith looked oddly at him and turned to Angel.

"Did_ you_ get that?"

"As frightening as that may sound – yes. But he's right. We need to do something. Now."

They moved quickly and soundlessly close to the hole. They were only 20 feet away or so when the woman leapt out of the hole, holding an amulet. She looked at them carefully, but she wasn't afraid at all. Her heartbeat was steady and unaffected. She smoothed down her rumpled dress and brushed some dirt off her leg, completely unfazed.

"Okay luv," Spike said, waving his shovel in what he hoped was a menacing gesture. "Why don't you just drop the little knick-knack and step away from it slowly. Or else someone might get hurt."

The woman pulled her smooth features into a frown as she put the amulet around her neck.

"What the hell is that, and why is its hair that color?" she said, staring at Spike.

"That, we all wonder," Angel smirked. Now, that was an opening like that he couldn't resist despite the earnest situation.

"Hand over the trinket," Spike hissed at the blonde woman, channeling his anger towards Angel against her instead. She simply laughed. Spike roared and attacked her with all his might. She didn't even bother to move before he was almost ready to strike. Only then she raised an arm, grabbed Spike's shovel and swiftly hit him with it. He flew several yards before landing hard on the ground, dazed and rendered harmless for a moment. The woman threw the shovel to the ground and brushed off her palms.

"Come on, now!" Angel hissed at Faith. They both lunged at the same time. The woman grabbed Faith by the arms and whirled her around as a rag doll. At the same time she jumped and kicked Angel hard in the chest, sending him flying backwards. Faith fought roughly to get loose. She managed to wriggle one of her arms free and she used it to punch the woman squarely in the jaw. She looked at Faith in dismay and anger.

"What are you doing?! You HIT me, you can't just go around hitting people!" The woman tightened her grip around Faith's left arm, she squeezed hard and twisted. Faith screamed as the bone snapped audibly.

"Angel!" Faith cried out. The woman stopped and grinned in recognition as she plainly shoved Faith away. She fell to the ground, cradling her broken arm to her chest.

"So YOU'RE Angelus. Yeah, that's more like it." She shrugged. "Oh well." Angel frowned. He didn't know her, but apparently she knew who he was. No matter how or why she knew him, it couldn't be good. She had retrieved the amulet of Proserpexa and wasn't about to give it up, that made her an enemy for sure. An enemy that was… too strong for comfort.

Angel got up and grabbed his axe, leaving the shovel behind as it wouldn't do much good here. He rushed up to the woman and was able to stay close to her by avoiding her stone hard punches and kicks. He ducked several of her strikes and grinned scornfully when she started to throw unbalanced, frustrated moves at him. Spike ran up to her from another angle. When she had her concentration fixed on him, Angel resolutely buried the axe in her neck with tremendous force.

If she had been human, even a strong demon for that matter, her head would easily have separated from her body. As it was, she gave a cry, pulled the axe out of the side of her neck and threw it back at Angel.

Not even his vampire speed was enough to move him completely out of the way. Barely avoiding decapitation himself it hit him in the shoulder, the force behind the blow throwing him back and slamming him to the ground. The heavy axe left a deep gash that benumbed his arm and soaked his dark shirt and the ground beneath him with blood in just seconds. A human would have died from the blood loss within minutes.

Spike whirled away from the woman when she tried to send him to the ground.

"Yeah, I get it. You're a bloody super being," he said. "Guess what, have a speck of super powers meself."

"Oh yeah? Then you're hiding it well because all I smell is a vampire – a cheap overgrown leech. Your kind can't even be brain sucked. So… not impressed." Before Spike had a chance to defend himself, she attacked him with a series of furious kicks and blows. The last punch almost knocked him unconscious, and he decided to… take a step back. It came out more as a headlong fall back.

Angel helped Faith to her feet. They were all wounded and still they hadn't managed to do any lasting damage to their devilishly strong opponent. The wound that Angel's axe left on her neck had healed completely in just seconds. It was almost like she was a god.

Just as he processed that thought, the obvious truth hit Angel. _Of course_. Idiot. Stupid, stupid idiot. For one reason or the other, the hellgod had returned. Glorificus. It was the only reasonable explanation. No one else with a human beating heart should be able to take out two strong and experienced vampires and a skilled Slayer without even breaking a sweat, or a stiletto heal for that matter.

"Spike, come on!" Angel shouted. Spike was on his feet again but staggering and obviously in severe pain, which slowed him down enough for Glorificus to grab him again when he tried to flee. Angel and Faith could only watch as she lifted him up and walked close to the edge of the mountain.

"You know what I always wondered?" Glorificus said with a maniacal giggle. "What happens to a crushed vampire? Do they dust or just break every bone in their bodies? 'Cause that's gotta hurt. You know what? Think I'm gonna try it!" Spike wriggled and tried to get free, but Glorificus iron hard grip effectively smothered his attempts. She easily flung Spike off the cliff and turned smirking to Angel and Faith.

"You okay?" Angel asked Faith. She nodded briefly. "Then come on!"

The blonde goddess yelled at their fleeing frames.

"This was fun, we'll have to do it again some time!" Glory looked on with a grin as they disappeared down the hill. That Angel type had been pretty strong for a lesser being but still, he was just a vampire. A vampire that would be dead very soon.


	54. HE WHO IS WITHOUT SIN

* * *

**CHAPTER 54: HE WHO IS WITHOUT SIN **

* * *

Buffy was pissed.

That bitch thought she could tell her what to do? Yeah, and she was _so_ likely to listen. So what if she played medallion-retriever herself, not like she cared. She had taken more crap, followed more than enough orders during her years as a human to last her – well, 'a lifetime' would be a bad phrasing now, wouldn't it. She had better things to do. And wasn't running around town searching for buried jewelry kind of a minion thing to do anyway? The whore-goddess-whatever was welcome to have it all to herself.

She was walking along the empty streets. The Bronze was closed, which meant she couldn't even pick out a nice torture victim to release some of her frustration and pent up aggression on. This really was a hellhole. Nothing to do. She didn't feel like going to the Magic Box right now. She might stop by later just for the hell of it, but just hanging around wasn't her style, she wanted something to _do_. More specifically, some_one_ to do. And the Angelic One and his sanctimonious little rodent crew would surely have "keeping everybody safe" as a top priority. No, they had to be played with finesse, not brute force. Well, not at first.

Stopping dead in her tracks on the street just outside of the Espresso Pump, she glanced inside, narrowing her eyes, registering something, recognizing. Wasn't she the lucky girl. There he was, a couple of tables away. Alone. Darting those sickly looking blue eyes around, glistening, pitch-black hair, a few wisps falling down over his face. Sipping coffee. Aw, wasn't this too good to be true.

The shop wasn't exactly crowded at this time of night, but she wasn't interested in quantity as much as quality. If she just wanted a meal she could grab one anywhere. But this, this was perfect. Now she knew what to do tonight.

Putting on a triumphant smile, she strode in to the coffee shop, making her way past several empty tables to greet him. He had his back turned, so she moved a chair across his table slightly to get his attention, the metal legs scraping to the floor.

He turned to her, his eyes blank at first, then registering first recognition and soon thereafter uncertainty, considering on which terms they had been when they last met. She batted her eyelashes and smiled coyly, hoping that he would take the bait. And of course, he did just that.

"Oh, well, hi Buffy, it's been a while," he said softly, regaining some of his confidence. His lips were twitching in a stupid way when he spoke. Brainless prick.

"It surely has," she beamed back at him, staring into his glycol puddle eyes. "So, how have you been… Parker?"

-

* * *

-

"Do you think we should have stopped and looked for Spike?"

Angel and Faith were just coming from the hospital and heading back to the Magic Box. They'd had no choice but to go there despite Faith's situation. It was risky, but her arm was broken and despite her Slayer powers there was no guarantee that it would heal properly without professional attention. If the doctor had recognized her in any way he hadn't shown it in the least – Angel hadn't read even the slightest change in his demeanor, body language or heart rate. They could only hope for the best.

While Faith was x-rayed and cared for Angel had taken the opportunity to sneak away and break into a supply closet and patch himself up a bit. Not like he was going to let the hospital staff see his injuries and inevitably raise the questions why he A) wasn't dead or at least unconscious, B) didn't need a blood transfusion or to be admitted and of course C) why he, in fact, _was_ dead.

"No," Angel said. "He'll be alright."

"You sure?"

"Not like a vampire will die from a high fall, you know, barring landing on something sharp and wooden that is... Anyway, I can still sense Spike, so he's not dead." Angel frowned at his phrasing. "At least, not more dead than he was two hours ago."

"Hmm. Did anyone ever tell you that this _sensing_ someone thing is pretty creepy?" Angel smiled briefly.

"Once or twice."

"So. What do we do now? Won't be much of a fighting asset with this thing," she said, touching her plastered arm.

"Don't worry about it," Angel said lightly. "We'll think of something. We still have some time, this ritual thing is still weeks away, and you heal quickly. It will work out." Hopefully, he added in thought.

"Yeah, right," she muttered, too tired to comment on the big wrongness of Angel trying to sound so positive.

Angel stopped his car outside the Magic Box. Everyone was obviously still there, it was lit inside and he could hear muffled voices through the wall.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go in there and present ourselves as not dead."

Everyone practically jumped at the sound of the jingling bell when Angel and Faith stepped inside. Safe to say that everyone was pretty wound up, which wasn't really a surprise considering everything that was going on. They were all there, including Spike who was back to sitting on the countertop. He was beaten black and blue had had several ugly cuts, but at least he was there, and in one piece by the look of it. Angel looked at him with a frown.

"So, how was it to bounce off the pavement?" he asked.

"Pretty much what I expected," Spike replied shrugging, grimacing in pain.

"Angel, Faith," Giles greeted, eyeing them with a worried look. "Thank God you're both alright. We feared you might have been badly hurt."

"Don't stop fearing it yet," Faith said, moving her plastered arm for emphasis. "It's not that bad, as far as broken bones go, but it'll stop me from doing much in the fighting department for a while."

Giles furrowed his brow and nodded, grateful that she was a Slayer at least. It wouldn't take her long to recover fully. "What about you, Angel?"

"I'll be alright. She responded to my attempt at beheading in a little more painful way than I would have liked, though." He clenched his fist tryingly. The numbness was still there, but it was less than before. The axe had probably damaged a few nerves, but if he got some new blood in his system it would hopefully be alright in a day or so.

"She?" Willow inquired, looking confused. "You tried to kill Buffy?" Angel frowned.

"What? No. We weren't fighting Buffy." He looked at Spike. "What did you tell them?"

"Just got here, alright? Not in the bloody mood for elaborate war stories."

"He's been here for 20 minutes," Cordelia informed. "Been real busy with whining about his own interpretation of _The Englishman Who Went Up a Hill But Came Down a Mountain_… And he said you were fighting a 'bloody blonde, cheap whorish fashion victim'." She shrugged. "Sounds like an accurate description of little Miss Butt Monkey to me." Angel glared at her.

"No, it wasn't Buffy. We were fighting Glorificus, the god."

Everyone was very silent for a few moments.

"Excuse me," Xander said finally with heat in his voice. "As in the_hellgod_ that wants to melt the walls between all dimensions. Let every reality make with the mushing together and go all kablooey?"

Angel nodded. At least he was fairly certain he understood what the last sentence meant.

"Yeah," he said silently.

"That's great. Don't suppose you saw fit to, oh say, TAKE the amulet from her to prevent her from doing that?!"

"The amulet doesn't do that, it only opens the Hellmouth," Angel said quietly.

"How comforting!"

"Look, chill Harris," Faith cut in. "He tried. We all tried. She was too strong – I'm telling you, I've fought some mean girls in my days, but this one? She took us all out without even blinking."

"She seems to be immortal as well," Angel cut in. "Like I said, I tried to decapitate her, but the wound healed up instantly."

"Alright, we'll… uh, we'll do research and try to figure out what do to," Giles tried to settle. Always being the rational one, he realized that throwing around the blame and bickering wouldn't do any good. "Right now, I think we should all get some rest. Especially the three of you. Rest and heal."

Xander didn't listen to Giles. He looked angrily at Angel. He was brimming with pent up anger and frustration towards the vampire and it seemed that this had been the last drop.

"You know what I think?" he said with heat in his voice. He took a few menacing steps towards Angel. "Sometimes, I think you're not that_good_ at all."

"Xander," Willow tried to quiet him. She knew it could get ugly if he continued talking. She had heard him go on about Angel many times, although it was usually mostly when he wasn't around, but she didn't think that Angel's presence would make him mince his words this time. If anything, the opposite was more likely. They were all under big pressure and stress and Willow _knew_ who Xander blamed for everything that was happening.

"No, Will. Not this time. I've kept quiet. Damn it, for over four years I've kept quiet." He turned back to Angel. "I wonder if you've ever been as _good_ as you like to pretend. We've all seen your true self, and I've always wondered – where the hell does it go when your soul is back?"

Angel looked at Xander silently. He could guess where this was going.

"So, you change your name, clothes, posture. Cut down on the chuckles and human chopping. But do you do anything good and selfless, really, or is this just another part of an evil scheme?" Angel scowled, feeling anger stir up.

"Xander, I'm not sure what your problem is," Angel replied between clenched teeth, weary, annoyed and really not wanting to have this conversation. "I know you used to have this thing for Buffy and I could understand it when you were just a schoolboy, but now? You have Anya, so it can't be about that. Why do you still have this intense hatred for me?"

"How_dare you_ even ask such a question?" Xander exploded. "Do you know how many times Willow and I have been there when Buffy cried over you? I stopped counting when the numbers got up there somewhere with the number of times Giles has been knocked unconscious, and _that's_ saying something. Don't you understand? You hurt her! You KILLED her! With or without a soul, you cause her nothing but pain. Her worst nightmare was to become a vampire. Did you know that?" Angel's eyes darkened and glistered with anger as Xander continued approaching him.

"I've been in the Slayer loop for a while, read up on vampires. As for example – I read about your little blond sire – Darla. Know all about the sick games you played with her. Do you know my theory? I think you used Buffy as a substitute for her. I mean, you play the perfect gentleman. Get her all swoony. Make with the knight in shining armor concept. Then – WHAM! Thwack her where it hurts the most. Play with her emotions. I'm not even sure which one of the egos that is the worst anymore. When you're soulless, at least you're up front about your evilness. Almost makes this goody version the more spiteful one."

"Now you're outta line," Angel said in a strained voice, clearly trying to keep his aggression in check. He had to fight hard to keep from grabbing the boy and investigate how far he could be thrown.

"Xander,_please_ stop it," Willow pleaded, sensing the growing tension between him and Angel. A full on fight between the two was the last thing they needed. Xander didn't take notice of her. He was too wrapped up in finally getting to say everything he had been thinking and keeping inside over several years. The point of no return was already passed.

"You come to Sunnydale," he continued. "Swipe the pretty, innocent, SIXTEEN year old NAIVE slayer off her feet. Almost a year passes, during which you have NO IDEA how involved Buffy became in you. Then again, maybe you do. Maybe you enjoyed watching her fall for you. Then you bone her, lose the soul, go all rabid dog. _'Horrible mistake, it wasn't Angel's fault'_. I'm not so sure I buy that crap. Maybe you DID know. Maybe that was the plan, to turn on her just when she was the most in love with you and the most vulnerable…"

Quicker than anyone could comprehend, perhaps except for Spike who had been watching the scene with glee, just waiting for the explosion Angel whirled and grabbed Xander by the throat. Squeezing, he could feel the throbbing pulse pounding against his hand like a hammer, the rushing of his blood just under his fingers. Xander grabbed his arm with both hands, trying to get loose but he stood no chance.

"You think the souled version is the worst, do you, hm?" Angel hissed. "Well, if I'm so evil – there's really nothing stopping me from twisting your head off right now, is there?"

"Angel!" someone behind him called. He didn't register who it was. The aggression blocked pretty much everything else, the intoxication of holding and threatening someone he hated dulled all senses except for the predatory instinct. The ooze of fear coming off of Xander, the rush of his blood, his increasing heartbeat – it was all he was aware of. The sound of the pulse was pounding in his ears like drums. Everything in him screamed to finish it, to snuff out the puny boy with a simple flick of the wrist. Someone tried to pull Angel away from Xander, but he simply shrugged them off.

"Sure, come on. Do that, we all remember how much you like snapping necks," Xander choked out, his face getting redder by the second, his attempts to push away Angel's arm more futile now. He could barely breathe.

"You wanna be enemies? Yeah, try me." Xander stared into Angel's dark eyes. Never before had he been so eagerly aware of the fact that all the qualities of Angelus still were inside Angel. This was Angelus implanted with a human soul, not an entirely different being – definitely not. Xander realized that the very different personality Angel probably was as much the result of a hundred years of suffering and hard work as the simple presence of a conscience. Though, this didn't really seem like the time to expand on those thoughts. The oxygen thing was becoming an issue and Xander could feel consciousness slipping away. Angel tightened his grip even further.

"Separate," Willow spoke firmly. An unseen force pushed Angel and Xander apart. Xander gasped and started coughing, reeling back and holding himself up against a chair. Angel breathed hard from the excitement. He tried to steady himself and concentrate on pushing down his cheering demon. He had to back a few steps when he realized how close to hurting Xander badly, possibly even killing him, he had gotten. If he had squeezed just a little bit harder… The bloodlust inside him still pulled and screamed furiously to finish the job.

Spike watched the scene from his spot, smirking smugly. While a human might mistake Angel's reaction for being angry and hurt by Xander's words, or even guilt for threatening him like that, Spike knew exactly what was going on – and he enjoyed it tremendously.

"We_don't_ have time for this," Willow said, slowly and calmly, yet very firmly looking accusingly at Xander. She didn't look at Angel – he couldn't quite decide it was because she was afraid of him or because she solely blamed Xander.

"Yeah, well, I think my point is proved here anyway," Xander said, clearing his throat and swallowing against the pain. "Come on Anya, we're going home." Anya, who was quiet for once, got up from her chair and followed Xander quietly.

"Xander, do you have your car here?" Willow asked just as they were about to exit.

"No," he answered simply.

"You shouldn't walk alone, not at night." She was right, they really shouldn't, but Angel wasn't about to be the one to object. First of all he didn't feel very much like playing the white knight and ensure Xander safe passage home – and he was pretty sure that if he tried to say anything else to him, it wouldn't come out as very nice.

"We'll be alright." Without another word, he slammed the door shut behind them and disappeared into the night with Anya.


	55. TWICE THE FOOL

* * *

** CHAPTER 55: TWICE THE FOOL **

* * *

"Was that really necessary?" Anya asked after a long silence. She and Xander were walking along the empty streets side by side, heading home. Xander was dragging his feet slightly, shoulders slumped, hands shoved in his pockets, stiffly staring at the road ahead. Anya kept throwing him side glances, clearing her throat now and then, urging him to say something, but he obviously wasn't going to.

"Anya…" he sighed, sounding as if he would have liked the silence to continue. Not likely.

"I mean, you'd think that someone like you, who've spent the last two years repeating to me 'Anya, play nice', and, and 'Anya, it is incorrect and inappropriate for you to speak to people like that' and 'Anya, you should refrain from using such truthful words as they are considered harsh' would know better. You covered the part of being too honest more than one time Xander, does that only apply to me?"

He gave her a tired look. "Anya. Please."

"And now we're walking alone in the dark, running a significant risk of having Buffy rip our arms off and beat us to death with them, and, and your neck is turning colors."

"Anya!" His voice wasn't exactly harsh, but it held a sharp edge. "I just… I had to do it, okay?"

She stared at him, trying to understand. "Why?"

Xander sighed deeply, trying to figure out how to explain this to her. "Tonight, I finally said some things that I've wanted to say – should have said a long time ago… like four years ago."

"Four years ago you didn't even know Angel that well. Remember, you told me? You didn't even know he was a vampire until April of 1997. It's May now, so you had only known him for a month. I don't understand how you can be repelled by someone you don't even know?"

"Because their relationship was gross and repulsive from the start!" Xander blurted, anger from before welling up again. "I still don't understand what the hell Buffy was thinking. I mean, the guy's a vampire! What more does anyone need to know? I mean, how can anyone ever fall in love with a demon?"

At that, Anya stopped dead in her tracks, looking strangely at Xander. Her voice a little vulnerable, a bit stung when she asked the inevitable question.

"So_that's_ how you feel?"

"Of course it…" he trailed off. "Oh. An, I don't mean you, you know _that_." She crossed her arms over her chest, protectively and defiantly.

"Why? What makes me different than Angel? I was a demon _a lot_ longer than he has been. While I admit that he was probably more physically violent and sadistic than I ever was, earning the Scourge of Europe nickname and all… He's just a child in comparison to me, Xander. I had wreaked vengeance upon men for over 800 years when he was first turned into a vampire."

"Yeah, but it's still different. You're human now. He's still a vampire. All the things that pop up like a butcher-in-the-box when he loses his soul are still there." Anya furrowed her brow and slowly started walking again.

"Do you know anything about vengeance demons, Xander?"

"Sure I do. You get turned into a demon, but unlike vampires, you only punish the guilty. It's a job, not pleasure, kinda." Anya turned and looked at him seriously.

"I think you've been badly informed. When a vengeance demon is made, it's always out of free will. D'Hoffryn will visit women that he thinks has the right qualities to begin with and asks if they want to do it for eternity. You should know that, he did it with Willow last year, remember. If the woman says yes, she is made immortal and imbued with a few powers, including the power to make vindictive wishes come true, teleporting and so forth. It's not like when the demon of a vampire takes over your body. We even keep our souls."

Xander shook his head. "But, all those things you've done…"

"I did them with a soul, yes. My soul – the same one I have now. Of course, I was a demon and it was my job, but_ I_ did them. And, believe me, I wouldn't have been able to keep the job for over a millennia if I hadn't been _good_ at it. Considering your opinion on Angel, shouldn't this make you hate me as much?" Anya was getting more and more upset as she spoke. In her mind, Xander was being completely illogical and she didn't understand it.

"It's still different." Xander shook his head and started walking again, a higher pace this time, as if to run away from the uncomfortable discussion.

"Why?" Anya ran after Xander and grabbed his arm, pulling him around to face her. "Because you love me? Is this about _you_? If I had been Angel, would you have hated me?"

"Just stop it, okay?" Xander pulled loose from her grip, shaking his head. "I love you, nothing will change that. You just trust me, my opinion of Angel is a healthy and sane one. He's a _killer_. We've all seen it. When those gypsies put his soul back, they only did it to punish him. It doesn't matter that he's sorry now, 'cause y'know what? He _belongs_ in some rat infested alley, he DESERVES to spend the rest of his infinite life in agony. NOT to live as some freakish eternal hero who gets to bone pretty girls and have forbidden pleasure moments that puts the whole damn world at risk."

Anya snorted and slowly released her grip.

"Does that go for me too? Because, you know, Angel feels sorry for what he did when he was evil. I _don't_. Your opinion isn't _healthy_, Xander. It's the opinion of a scared, insecure little boy. Can you look me in the eye and tell me, honestly, that your attitude towards Angel is all noble and has nothing to do with jealousy?"

Xander held Anya's gaze defiantly, but he didn't answer. After a beat, he turned away from her and continued walking.

"You can't, can you!" she called after him. "Do you love Buffy, is that it? Do you wish Angel out of the way in hopes of Buffy turning to you when she needs a shoulder to cry on?!" He stopped and spun around.

"Just,_cut it out_ Anya! I love you and I couldn't stand to see you get hurt, but if you can't even trust me on this, then maybe we shouldn't be together at all." She stopped instantly, looking at him as if struck.

"No, maybe we shouldn't," she agreed silently.

"Good! So why don't you just go back to the Angel cheering crowd and, and…"

"Die? Yeah, good plan!" a cheery voice said. Xander froze at the chilling familiarity of it. He whirled around and saw her standing there, in the shadow. If she took a few steps back, she wouldn't be visible in the dark – she could have been standing there, listening to them the whole time. And he hadn't even been aware of the danger.

"Buffy," he said, desperately trying to keep calm.

"Hey Xand," she said softly, just like the human Buffy might have. After a second she broke it off with maniacal laughter. "Geesh, would you take a look in the mirror? I just _sound_like her, and you go all mushy. And still you wonder why my human little self couldn't get a grip when her lover went all evil and naughty."

Xander looked at Anya and motioned for her to come to him. If she came within his reach, he could grab her and run. It wasn't sure they would actually make it anywhere, but it was better than to just stand around and waiting to get killed. Or maimed. Or both.

As soon as Anya took a step forward, Buffy lunged at her and grabbed her hard by the throat, spinning her around. She held her with the back against her chest, gripping under her chin. Xander had the unpleasant feeling of déjà vu – once again standing face to face with a soulless killer that held one of his loved ones in a death grip, and he couldn't do anything about it. He didn't even have a cross on him. He silently cursed his sloppiness. He wasn't sure if he had any kinds of weapons on him. He wanted to check, but Buffy's cold eyes followed his every move. What would she do to Anya if he searched his pockets?

"Let her go!" he called out, realizing the uselessness. Buffy laughed.

"Oh, Xand, I don't think so. She squeezed harder; Anya struggled at first but soon went limp in Buffy's arms when she squeezed her main arteries. She let her unconscious form slump to the ground. Buffy stalked closer to Xander, her movements smooth and self-secure, cocking her head arrogantly. She had the power here, and she knew it. Xander couldn't run away even if he tried.

"How convenient of you by the way, to make sure no one will get out to look for you. No one will help you. Yeah, I heard the little spat you had in the magic shop. Very smooth. Maybe you should put some ice on that neck."

"Buffy, don't do this. You don't want to do this." Xander backed away, but Buffy followed him step by step, like a lioness stalking her prey, eyes locked on the target.

"You should have just let him kill you," she commented. "You know, for the greater good or whatever it is you people pretend to live and die for." She chuckled. "Well, mostly die for lately, I guess. But that's fine, too, as long as you go out a hero, right?" She moved even closer to him, standing no more than maybe 6 feet away now.

"But that's the problem, isn't it? You're no hero. Actually, you're no good to them at all, you never were. Xander Harris, the Redundant Man and his little millennia harpy slut. Stupid little boy, running around, cracking jokes at everybody's expense, getting yourself into trouble so that the others have to go out of their way just to rescue you from getting killed, again. But not tonight, huh?"

"Buffy, I… please."

"What's with the puppy-eye, Xand? You think I just might warm to your truly human touch?" She laughed cruelly and turned her gaze to Anya's unconscious form for a moment. This was his chance. The closest thing he was going to come to a chance, anyway.

Xander checked for a stake, and in fact, he had one in his jacket pocket. He looked desperately at Buffy and Anya on the ground. If he didn't do this, Buffy would kill her. He had to do this. He looked at Buffy's face. Her features hard, her green eyes cold, that face held nothing of the spirit he had seen in Buffy. She was an empty shell. Dead. Not his friend, just a monster. Just like Jesse. He raised his stake and attacked.

"Oh, please," Buffy scoffed as she easily dodged his attack. When he struck the next time, she grabbed his wrist and squeezed it hard. At the same time she let her sharp fingernails sink in to the tender skin on the inside of the wrist. Xander had to bite his lip to keep back a cry of pain. Finally he let go of the stake and she loosened her grip around his wrist. She left four deep cuts that bled profusely.

"Mmm, yummy," Buffy grinned as she licked the blood off the cuts, never letting her eyes from his face, savoring his reaction. "What do you say, wanna come home with me? See if _you'll_ respond to _my_ touch?" she said in a low, mockingly sensual voice. Xander didn't answer, obviously aware that he wouldn't be given much of a choice. "Yeah, maybe you wanna 'bone a pretty girl' for once," she taunted. "That is, if you can even get things up and running."

She moved disturbingly close to him, practically grinding against him. She slammed a hand in his groin, teasing him. In a way she was making a very old and now banished dream of his coming true but in the most horrifying, twisted kind of way. He felt his body responding to her touch and smell and hated himself for it.

"Mmm," Buffy whispered. "My touch can work magic, don't you think? Albeit, it is lacking in that pesky human department, but you've got more than enough of that yourself, don't you. Human, demon – good, bad, it's nice to live in a black and white world, isn't it?" She started fiddling with the zipper of his pants, her gaze still locked on his face, her twisted grin not fading for a second as she watched – and felt – for a reaction.

"Remember when you were a big, bloodthirsty hyena boy and tried to rape me? Tried to scratch and claw and bite pure, sweet little Willow? You wanted to tear her throat out, taste her blood. And you wanted to ravage sweet little me over and over, didn't you? Get there _first_. Claim me and make me _yours_." She leaned in close, almost brushing her face against his neck. "The more I scare you, the better you smell… remember?"

Xander swallowed, shaking, fighting against panic. "I… I don't…"

"Don't remember? Sure you don't. That's a sweet little lie, but we're all grown up now, Xander, aren't we? No need for the cutsie softening up anymore. Welcome to my world. Now, get ready to leave it."

She laughed, spinning him around and locking his neck in the crook of her arm, strangling him. He tried to struggle at first but her grip was iron hard and he had no chance of getting free. The more he struggled, the more pressure she applied and soon he started feeling lightheaded. The world seemed less real, dull and blurry, darkness flickering.

He needed to help Anya… needed to writhe free to get over there and wake her up… but it was far, far away and with the world spinning and the ground giving away under his feet, it would probably make it hard to get over there…

Not before long, the world went completely black before his eyes when he sank into unconsciousness.


	56. IN THE SHADOWS

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**CHAPTER 56: IN THE SHADOWS **

* * *

Angel sat on the cold stone floor in the atrium of the mansion, leaning back against one of the flowerbeds and staring up at the starlit sky. Stone. Cold, gray, hard, unyielding stone, the entire building was made of it. No wonder he had been drawn to it. Well, with its somber tone of gray, his surroundings rather suited his mode at this point. The rigidness of the material felt uncomfortable and the edge dug into his back, but he didn't mind. 

His shoulder still hurt, but it was okay. He felt better since he had changed into a clean and dry shirt, one that wasn't soaked in blood. The wound itself had stopped bleeding and was already knitting together, itching under the bandages, healing. He wasn't a big bleeder, being dead and all.

It was late, very late. Well, it was by human standards. For him? Prime time. Even though whilst living in Los Angeles and working with his team he had forced himself to adjust his sleeping pattern somewhat for his friends' sake it was still nighttime that drew him in, made him feel the most natural and, well, living – yet not, of course.

Still, in a way it was easier to push away those concealed, forbidden urges and desires in the daytime. The tug of primordial forces was always stronger at night. The lust to hunt and kill, to be one with the shadows and stalk his prey like the predator he was, to draw closer as he sensed their fear, heard their hearts pick up pace, their blood rush before he…

Yes. Easier in the daytime. The time when his demon was naturally somewhat subdued, programmed to rest more than hunt.

Usually he got his yaya's out – and no, that wasn't his own phrasing – by hunting and killing demons. It was a good compromise, really. It was a good thing to do and it allowed him to release pent up aggression and frustration, occupying the demon, satisfying it somewhat.

But he would never divulge to his friends exactly how much pleasure he got from it or how it touched the darkness he had buried within. They rarely spoke of it at all – his darkness, that was. It was mostly 'Angelus this and Angelus that, _but Angel never would_.' He wasn't sure if they actually thought that it was that simple or if they just figured that version more comfortable than the truth. Again, it wasn't like they talked about it much.

Gunn and Faith were fast asleep inside. After Xander and Anya left in a huff they had tried to keep the conversation going for a bit, but the tension was tangible and no one seemed to know what to say, how to act, if they should comment on it at all or just pretend that their leader, or whatever-the-hell they might view him as, hadn't just attacked one of their group members. Seeing that they were getting nowhere Giles had thankfully brought up the subject of rest again and the group had quickly dispersed.

But Angel couldn't sleep. He was having 'Serious Thoughts'. At least that's what he thought Cordelia might call it – air quoting and mock scowling to imitate his pensive face.

He clenched and unclenched his fists several times, staring down at his hands. How many people had died in the grip of those hands? After all this time and all this death it should be impossible to keep track. It wasn't. Not for him. He remembered every single one of them. That was his curse. Xander could have died in his grip tonight. He might very well have if Willow hadn't intervened.

Self-control. Definition? Control of ones self. Not that hard. Well, it shouldn't be. And it was a good thing to maintain, especially for a guy like him. Not like he didn't have any experience in the area. Every day, every single day for over a hundred years. Okay, soulless relapses not included. And well, sure, there had been some soulful mistakes as well, but…

The point being? Someone like him, with his powers, his past, all his years… He shouldn't have let himself be provoked by Xander like that. He was just a human, not much more than a kid. A pissed off and weary driven-over-his-edge human kid. A 12th of his age, plus some change. He should have known better. A few simple words and he was practically ready to tear him apart. What did that say about him? Didn't it, in a way, just prove Xander's point?

The point wasn't even Xander, specifically, because, the two of them? Not really fans of each other, never had been. Even less so now. Angel wouldn't weep over Xander's death and he knew the feeling was mutual. If anything, Xander might weep if he didn't get to be there to see it happen. _You're gonna die. I'm gonna be there._

No, it was the principle of it all. Slipups like this, for _him_? It wasn't okay. It wasn't good or acceptable. To err is human, goes the saying. But that was just the point here, he wasn't human, nor should he pretend to be, or pretend that he could walk in their world. This last year – hell, these last several years, did speak for themselves really. Several gruesomely poignant examples and reasons why a vampire shouldn't pretend to be something that he isn't.

Xander had taken Anya and stalked off into the night, too angry to seriously consider the risk. Buffy hadn't made an appearance at the mansion tonight. Angel knew he should be out there looking, making sure that Xander and Anya had made it home safely, be ready for an encounter. Trying to hinder her from making any more damage. But he wasn't. He knew he should care more, have concern for these humans – even for Xander. But he didn't. Why? He wasn't even sure himself.

_The worst sin toward someone is not to hate them, but to be indifferent to them; that's the essence of inhumanity. _

His own coldness, his indifference, it reminded him of what he had been many, many years ago. No, not as Angelus – after. But long before Buffy and Sunnydale, too. He would have liked to think that he had grown at least a little in this last century, but obviously, he hadn't really, not when it came down to it.

He had never been that attached to his human emotions. Not his fault, really. He had been a demon a lot longer than he had been human – and even when he was, it wasn't exactly like he had been a poster boy for it or anything. He may have had a soul for over a hundred years, but it would be foolish to think of the soul as true humanity or even something resembling it.

Anyway – with hundreds of years of emotional baggage, trying to lead a life, well, an existence anyway, filled with humanity and human acquaintances – friends, even, it was a struggle for him, but he had really gotten somewhere after the first year in LA. Things were good. He had his friends, he had his business, he had – a purpose.

It had felt good. He had been more a part of the world in LA than he had ever been in Sunnydale, because, even though nothing had ever made him feel as alive and human and loved as Buffy – regrettably, he noted darkly – Buffy and everything concerning her had really been all that he had here.

What scared him was that it seemed to be so easy and naturally coming to him to undo it all, revert to his old ways. Tonight's event had only been one more little piece in a jigsaw puzzle of which he really didn't like the image that was being revealed.

Detachment Guy, Cordelia would call him with whilst trying to hide the worried wrinkle of her brow in an otherwise bright face as she tried to involve him in things, encouraging his human side. While he hadn't always been very happy about it, he realized that it had been good for him. His human friends had been his only anchor to the human world; they had kept him from retreating back into himself and his dark chambers – literal and figurative alike. But he had effectively rid himself of that when he cut them off and fired them, hadn't he?

He looked up at the sky. Still hours until dawn. Yes, he should rest, he knew that. He imagined the coming days and weeks would be hard on them and everybody should take every offered opportunity to recharge. He also knew that, for him, sleep wasn't coming anytime soon. Too much going on up there tonight. And, short of resting, he might as well just sit here, doing what he did best…

Brooding.

-

* * *

- 

Ben was worried.

When it first became clear that the Key wasn't in Sunnydale anymore, he had rejoiced. In his mind, it was a step in the right direction. The direction that was away from Glory being able to perform her ritual to melt her way home through dimensional walls, that was. When she did so, she would be rid of her human imprisonment. Him. He was merely a bad necessity that Glory would shrug off the first chance she got. So safe to say he wasn't rooting for her.

Everything had been calm for a while, after they left Sunnydale. Glory had taken her warty, groveling hobbity-minions and headed for Cleveland, where she resumed the search. The peace and quiet hadn't lasted. There was another Hellmouth in Cleveland and with it came lots of demonic activity. Even if this one didn't have a Slayer, people were aware of the dark forces surrounding them. Glory's minions had been captured and killed by a group of demon fighters.

After that, Glory had managed to find a sorcerer of some kind, supposedly someone who had a connection to the monks that used to keep the Key safe. The sorcerer had told her that the Key was no longer in this dimension, that it was moved or restored or hidden somehow, somewhere. This had, apparently, tipped off Glory that the Key might very well be hidden in Sunnydale like she thought after all – or more accurately, under it.

If you have a Key with millennia old ancient power, what better place to hide it than inside the Hellmouth?

Glory had figured that it was worth a shot. The night when the walls were weakened, she would open the Hellmouth using the energy of Proserpexa through an amulet that would open a portal down into the Hellmouth. If she was lucky, the Key would be there and she could open the gates – if on the other hand it wasn't there, at least she would be a step closer to her world. It should be easier to tear her way home in a wrecked hell dimension.

Of course, none of the alternatives were something that Ben was very exited about. Even if he wouldn't cease to exist if Glory was in hell – which the goddess herself would surely enjoy – he wasn't exactly up for it. But he didn't see how he could stop her. Well, he could kill himself of course, but while it may be heroic, it didn't sound very appealing.

He paced the decorated apartment. Glory's clonky new minions were stupid and didn't even speak English very well, but even though they were big and clumsy, they had obviously succeeded with embellishing the originally very simple apartment to the liking of the goddess.

He stiffened at the sound of the door opening. Who could it be? The minions were all asleep in a storage room, waiting for Glory to emerge again – or at least, so he assumed.

But the being entering the apartment wasn't a hideous scaly creature standing 8 feet tall – it was a girl. Good looking, small and blonde, wearing a lot of black leather… maybe a little pale? Who was she, a vampire? An ally of Glory maybe? Even if most bloodsuckers lacked the wish for a bigger scheme there were a few of them that wanted more than simple death, he knew that much. He had heard something about a vampire being involved with the opening of the Hellmouth, but it was supposed to be a male. Angelus, a particularly brutal creature that had hindered Glory's searching for her Key previous winter one way or the other. He wasn't really clear on the details. He only got half the story after all. The half that didn't make much sense.

"Who are you?" Ben asked quickly. The girl frowned. "I mean, um… hi."

The girl let the corner of her mouth curl into a smirk. She sauntered towards Ben, clear predator instinct in her eyes. Surely a vampire then, he thought. She looked at him, seeming to take in his scent. Her green, cold eyes seemed to almost penetrate him and he had to look away.

"You smell like her," she observed. "Interesting, I wouldn't have thought of Miss Skank as the boyfriend type. Or maybe you're just a sex slave or something. Are there fuzzy handcuffs involved?"

Ben suddenly felt weak and queasy. He staggered to the side and leaned against a chair. Great. Big sis coming home.

"I….I… uh…"

"Well, who knew? A_ stammering_ sex slave," the blonde vampire smirked. "But I guess she's not keeping you around to make small talk anyway."

No answer.

"Hmm, since you don't seem to use it very much either way, what do you think your mistress would say if I just happened to cut out the tongue of her kept boy and leave it for display?"

Before she could say anything else something happened before her eyes that she wouldn't have believed if she hadn't seen it. Letting out a short yell, the clearly mortal man morphed into Glorificus. The same Glorificus she had seen the day before, only this time wearing the man's clothes. She glared at Buffy – she obviously wasn't supposed to see it. Someone didn't like to have her unmentionables peeked at.

"Cool!" Buffy grinned. "Are you like, the goddess version of a hermaphrodite?"

"Would you shut up, leech," Glory sighed. "It's none of your business."

"Is that right."

Glory stretched, seeming uncomfortable in the man's clothes. "So, did you kill the vampire and its friends yesterday? 'Cause that would really perk up my day."

"Yeah, about that," Buffy said, remembering why she had come. She turned around an went out into the hallway – a moment later she came back, dragging a blonde, bruised, semi conscious girl behind her.

"_What_ is this and _why_ is it in my apartment?" Glory said with disgust, studying the bleeding human. Nice carpet. Nice, _beige_ carpet. Blood's a bitch, and in good company. There seemed to be a lot of bitches invading her space right now.

"This is an_ Anya_," Buffy grinned. "Being one of said friends, I thought you might want her. Do what you will with her – just as long as it's crafty, you know, artful."

"_Artful_?" Glory echoed with a grimace, shaking her head. The vampire wasn't just stupid and bad at following orders, she was crazy as well.

"You know, if you want artful, just behead her with a Picasso or something," she said, looking terribly bored. Buffy shrugged.

"You don't want her?"

Glory considered it. She certainly wasn't going to bother with killing the human. Simple, pointless human death was beneath her, being about as exiting as swatting a fly - but there was always one thing she could do with her…

"If you're offering," Glory shrugged. Buffy pushed the blonde girl towards her. She looked at her with a grin.

"Let's get crazy," she said cheerfully as she let her fingers sink into her temples. The girl, who was jolted back to consciousness by the pain screamed in agony, Buffy smiled in surprise and content and Glory enjoyed. This girl had some nice heft to her – she must be a lot older than the twenty or so years she looked like. A delicious mind. A lot of darkness stored in there. After draining her completely, she let the limp body fall to the floor.

"Nifty," Buffy commented. "What did you do to her?" Glory stepped back and let the girl speak for herself. Well, kind of. She slowly propped herself on her hands, rocking herself back and forth.

"Light, light… light all over me. Light burns, it burns me." She sank to her elbows and started sobbing. "The light is taking me, taking… ooh," she cried, "why does it hurt so much?"

Buffy observed for a moment, then smiled broadly.

"You made her insane? But like, the quickie version? Not bad, I'll have to give you that." Oh yeah, Buffy thought. This would warm her boy's heart. Well, figuratively, anyway.

"Really? 'Cause you know, I actually don't think you will be doing anything. At all. In fact, I don't think you will even leave this apartment," Glory said and Buffy stiffened.

"What?" she said.

"I think you know a little too much. Plus, you're _annoying_. Your fashion sense isn't helping either," Glory grinned. "That much dead cow on a person is just... And that much dead cow on _you_? Almost makes me feel bad for the _cow_. All this equals death. Boys!" The clumsy Traklah demons emerged from their storage room, looking ready for combat.

"Oh, great," Buffy muttered. Just what she needed. Glory stood back, grinning smugly while the scaly beasts advanced towards Buffy. She decided that this wasn't the place to fight – she could probably disarm the demons, but then Glory might very well step in if she wanted the job done – and since she didn't know exactly how strong the vain goddess was, she didn't want to fight her unarmed here and now.

Buffy quickly grabbed a nearby coffee table and crashed it over the head of one of the Traklah's. She jumped and kicked two of the others, and while they were recovering from that, she grabbed the still whimpering Anya by the arm, pulled her to her feet and hurried out of the apartment. She heard Glory yell at the demons to follow her, but before they had a chance to, Buffy went down into the basement and escaped down the sewer entrance.

The Traklah's would never fit through the hole even if they did try to follow. Satisfied with her timely escape route she dragged Anya in the direction of her current residence.


	57. INNOCENCE LOST

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A/N: Thanks again to all for reading and a special thanks to those of you that remember to push the review button below. It's all very appreciated.

* * *

**CHAPTER 57: INNOCENCE LOST**

* * *

It was the intense, throbbing pain in his arms that woke Xander up. That, and the compact, stuffy smell. It was like he was in a house that had been abandoned and closed for years. He slowly opened his healthy eye and looked around. The room was dark and vague, wherever he was the windows, if there even were any, must be tightly shut and covered, and there were no artificial lights in the room.

Instinctively he tried to use his arms as a help to get to his feet, but he couldn't. They were bound behind his back – hence, the cramp in them. His legs were stretched out before him but tied together so he couldn't move them much. He had no idea what time it was or how long he had been – wherever he was. As his eye adjusted to the dimness of the room he could descry a slit of sunlight finding its way through a small covered window somewhere high up to the right of where he was sitting. Sunlight. It had still been night when he and Anya left the Magic Box.

Oh god – Anya. Where was she? He opened his mouth to utter her name, but his throat was dry and dusty. He swallowed desperately to moisten his throat enough to make sound. His throat still hurt from the ill treatment Angel had given it last night. Was it last night? Or had he been here longer?

"Anya?" he managed to croak finally. "Anya?" When he heard the sound of footsteps, he started yanking his ropes, but without any success. "Anya!" At the sound of a chuckle, his heart sank.

"Xander, Xander… Anya's resting. Don't you worry about her."

"Where is she?" he growled in fear and anger.

"Like I said," Buffy said more firmly. "Don't worry about her." She came into his field of vision. She sat down on a bed that was just a few, maybe 5 feet from where he was sitting. He studied her silently for a few moments, tried to find something – just a smidge of his friend in her eyes. She wasn't there. The demon sitting in front of him might look, sound, even smell like Buffy, but it wasn't her.

He stared at her in horrified silence. She stared back and said nothing, but her eyes and her slight smile spoke volumes. Power – she had it. She knew it. He knew it. Buffy had always had it, but she would never have abused that advantage over her friends. Not only because she was human but because she was a good person. A Slayer possessed enough power to take and have practically anything she wanted. No one had to remind him of the time he was almost strangled to death by a psyched out Faith, and saved by… well, that was different story altogether, wasn't it? Ancient history.

Here and now it was Buffy, demon Buffy that had his life in her hands. Whether she planned to eat him now and be done with it or keep him here in this cozy torture chamber indefinitely for her every whim he had no idea. Maybe she hadn't even decided herself.

When Buffy started looking bored and ceased her staring, picking up a small knife and toying with it, Xander realized this might be the time for some stalling if he wanted to avoid untimely exploratory surgery done with pocket knife by blood thirsty vampire. Nothing to worry about. This stuff happened to him on a regular basis, almost getting killed and all. Not like he hadn't been in tougher spots before.

Who was he kidding?

"So," he began unsteadily, but at least she stopped her fascination with the knife for a moment. "What are you going to do here?" Did he want to know?

"It's hard for you this, isn't it?" Buffy answered his question with one of her own and he saw a sinister gleam in her eyes.

"Hard? Oh, no, no hard here. Anywhere." He bit his tongue. "If I look uncomfortable it's probably just because, well, I have a cramp…" Strike two. "Um, from the sitting uncomfortableness." She just shook her head.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk… still making jokes, huh? You always did. Don't think he ever liked that about you." She lowered her gaze somewhat and let it linger on his throat that, by the feel, was probably sporting several rainbowy colors by now. "That and other things."

There was no question of who 'he' was, of course. This was _Buffy_ after all, no matter how twisted and demonic a version it may be. Of course she would bring up 'him'. She must love it – that her sucko lover had almost killed him, soul and all.

"Well, he never makes jokes, so I let just say I cover his share of humor as well then."

While terrified and barely able to keep his voice steady, Xander wanted to keep her talking. At least it would buy him some time and as long as she sat there and talked she couldn't get into anything more… physically destructive. And considering his situation he really wanted her non-physical destructive right now.

"Joke all you want then. Doesn't change anything, not in the end. In the end the only thing that ever changes anything is death." She paused for a second, maybe pondering that statement. Death. She'd been around it a lot, and not only since she died herself. Killing, dying, dead, undead. Dead family, dead friends. It was the way of Slayers and vampires alike. It was odd how they were designed to be mortal enemies and opposites of each other and yet they seemed to walk similar paths.

She looked up at him again, her gaze hard. "I guess the question they'll ask themselves when they find your bodies is, will you just be food for the worms… or more? You might make an interesting vampire. Who knows."

"What was it you said before… what's hard for me?" Xander asked quickly, wanting to avoid the subject of corpses and worms and death – undeath, even.

"Ah, right. Didn't mean to get side tracked. All in good time." She got down from the bed and moved closer to him, crouching down, leaning in close to whisper in his ear… or possibly something much worse. He felt every muscle in his body tense and his heart speed up and he realized his reaction probably gave her great pleasure, but there was little he could do about it. He _was_ terrified. Mortal danger had the tendency of affecting him like that.

"Being forced to work with him… seeing him every day. That's hard for you. Seeing all of them flock around him despite knowing all the improper and dirty and morbid little things he's done to thousands of people? To _me_? He took me from you, isn't that how you view it? He took me from you, and then, well, he _really_ took me from you. It's just a little spell that divides the façade he's showing you now from who he truly is. But you already know that. You may be a worthless idiot, but at least you're a clear-sighted worthless idiot. Well, on that subject anyway. And, you know a few things about spells too, don't you. Little brew, little stew, little chant. But the thing about spells? Easy come, easy go. Like, poof." She pulled back and remained perched on the floor, looking at him as if to determine his reaction.

"Other things can go 'poof', too," he replied and she tilted her head to the side, her face registering just a hint of appreciation at the fact that he dared talk back to her.

"Boy. I see after all the time you've clung to your latest catch in the line of demon brides you've actually managed to pick yourself up some sass. But, Xand, bitchy just isn't the look for you." She moved closer to him again, knife in hand.

"You've always had a big mouth. Wouldn't be much good without a tongue though, would it? Just a big, floppy, oozing hole in your face. Granted, it wouldn't be much of a change, but…" Leaning in closer, closer and straddling him, very consciously sitting down in exactly the right spot, she put the blade of the knife to his bruised throat and put very slight pressure on it. He could feel his skin stinging, so very close to breaking. One unwary jerk, one hard enough twitch to the side and that would be the end of him. It wasn't a huge-ish knife by any rate, but it would get the job done if that was what she had in mind. He remembered a long time ago, just after Buffy moved to Sunnydale, her telling him about a slay done with an Exacto knife… Not the most glorious way to die, really. He had found it comforting back then, hearing about her handiness with whatever weapons she could get her hands on. But now? Not so much.

Buffy leaned forward, still holding the knife firmly in place with one hand and bringing the other to the back of his head and grabbing his hair, holding his head in place, she kissed him roughly, abusing his mouth with hers, forcing his jaws apart and then he could feel fangs playing with his tongue. Scared shitless and disgusted he couldn't look away, couldn't move and didn't dare closing his eye so he stared into her sinister amber eyes and her ridged demonic face.

He felt a sharp pain in his mouth when she bit down and felt the taste of blood for half a second before another sensation took over when he could feel her sucking. He flinched instinctively and tried to draw in a breath but if got caught halfway in his throat when he felt a little trickle of blood down his neck.

It probably wasn't more than a minute later that she released him and pulled back, but it felt much longer. He was out of breath, for obvious reasons, and he felt lightheaded but wasn't sure if it was because of the blood loss or the fear and lack of oxygen. His tongue ached and bled and he grimaced as he was forced to swallow his own blood.

Buffy, still in game face, licked her lips and wiped off the knife.

"Well, that really sucked," she sneered and he shuddered at the sight of her demonic grin. She scooted back a bit and let her gaze roam down his body. "Bet there's other places we could try out." When he didn't respond, she smiled again and her features smoothed back into their human looks.

"Oh, come on. As if you haven't been fantasizing about this for years? I know all of it, Xander. It's in your eyes and in your voice. It's in your scent and in your blood. Plus, remember when I could hear thoughts? I heard everything, you know – everything." She brought up the knife again and rested the tip in the hollow between his collarbones. She kept it there for a moment and he held his breath, not daring any movements at all. One slight push, for someone with her strength, just one, and that would be it.

Strange, morbid thoughts flew through his head. How quick would it be? He hadn't been attending, or awake, through enough of Biology to know exactly what the knife would puncture if she pushed it in right there. He knew enough to realize that it probably wouldn't be quick unless the knife severed any arteries. Maybe his vocal cord would be severed – he wouldn't even be able to scream. If it reached the spinal cord, would he die instantly or just be paralyzed?

His only consolation here was that Buffy was new at this and she hadn't exactly been a top Biology student either. She might not know enough to be absolutely certain how to inflict the most pain on him without killing him. Not like _someone else_. Then again, it was entirely possible that _someone else_ had given her a crash course in the fine art of bodily torture. _Someone else_, unfortunately, had centuries of experience and learning-by-doing.

But then she put an end to his thoughts by grabbing the collar of his shirt and using the knife to slice it, then ripped open his sweater and baring his chest. She let the tip of the knife roam over his skin, just scratching a little, leaving behind a pink line in the skin. If it stung he didn't feel it. Putting the knife aside for a moment she put her palms on his chest and let sharp thumbnails play with his sensitive nipples and yanking out the little hairs he had growing there. He flinched and shuddered under the cold of her hands.

"Of course, I suppose that in your fantasy, you're actually… somewhat manly, so maybe this isn't exactly how you pictured it…" she sneered, "or maybe it's just how you pictured it. You like a girl that knows her way around your flesh bag of a body, don't you? Either way I'm sure I won't disappoint you." She leaned in closer again, whispering. "I have muscles you couldn't even dream of. No one alive knows about them." She pulled back, frowning slightly. "Actually, that's even factually true."

"Buffy, if you're going to kill me, why not get it over with," he managed, though his speech was slightly altered due to his torn and bruised tongue. "You know, for old times sake." He failed to hide the tension in his voice. He may be a dumb guy, but he wasn't foolish enough to actually think he could reach her. He just wanted to stall. He could feel his heart beating faster as she stared at him, feeling the pulse all the way out into his aching hands and fingers.

"You're scared," she observed.

"Wasn't that the point?" he said between clenched teeth. "Yeah, high marks, well done."

Buffy got up and started pacing around the room – or apartment. Xander wasn't really sure what this place was, he couldn't see much from his position. He hade a vague feeling of familiarity, like maybe he had been here before, but he couldn't place it.

When Buffy got up to the bed she grabbed the sheets and pulled them away. As soon as she did he could see the outline of a person lying on it. He went cold for a second, thinking it was Anya, but despite the bad light he could quickly make out that it was a young man. Naked. His head slumped to the side and empty, dead blue eyes staring at Xander. Some streaks of black hair falling over his face.

At first he didn't recognize him, his distorted, pale, dead face and empty eyes not holding a great resemblance to what he had looked like in life, but then he saw it. _That_ guy. Parker. Taking advantage of Buffy, getting clobbered over the head-Parker.

Buffy noticed him staring at the body and smiled winningly, picking up the dead man's hand and dropping it so that it slapped his own groin with a sickening squishy sound that left less to the imagination than Xander would have liked, even if he didn't exactly _see_ what made that sound. She laughed.

"Oh, yeah. Well, what can I say. Some guys just aren't worth a second go, you know." She moved closer to him. "Kinda like what Faith said about you. Use 'em and lose 'em. Fuck 'em and kill 'em. In the end, none of it makes a difference. "

She paused for a second, watching him, relishing his horror. "No, Xander…" she continued. "I don't think I'm gonna kill you…" his heart jumped. She turned to him, smirking. "I mean, not right away. If the angelic one taught me one thing it's that slow deaths are so much more… exhilarating. Why just slit your throat when I can watch you suffer, break you part by part? Never go for the kill if you can go for the hurt." She looked towards the window. "The sun will be setting very soon. You game?"

* * *

Parked in the street outside of the Magic Box Angel sat in his car, anxiously squeezing the steering wheel. Waiting. Not in a great mood. Then, he rarely was these days. He hadn't slept at all, sitting and staring at the night sky until dawn came and threatened his existence, forcing him inside where he had resumed his brooding, alternating between sitting in front of the fireplace and pacing around the large mansion, staring at the many stone walls, confided to stay inside them. It had been a long, sunny spring day and not being able to do much about anything his frustration had been building up.

A little voice in the back of his mind had told him over and over that it had been a big mistake not to leave the mansion all night. The little voice was right, he knew that. As the immediate rage towards Xander lessened the regret he felt over the way he had handled things last night increased. He also knew that it was too late for regrets now, it wouldn't make a difference.

Now that sun had finally given up its hold on this day he had found, upon his, Gunn's and Faith's arrival at the Magic Box that the others weren't even ready to head out yet. Running back and forth in an unorganized manner he couldn't help but cynically wonder however in the world these people had managed to avert more than one apocalypse on their watch. Then again, they usually had _her_. She was the reason why most of these people had banded in the fight against evil in the first place, however unlikely such a thing had seemed for them before they met her. Not only they. Himself, as well. She was his reason just like theirs – even more so. A lot more.

The official plan for tonight was simple in theory. Meet up, head out, comb through the town – which, unlike combing through Los Angeles was actually a doable project – find her, bring her in. And then… first thing's first, he told himself.

Xander and Anya hadn't showed up or been heard from today. It did worry him, but probably less than it should, he realized. It wasn't that he wished Xander a horrible death at the hands of Buffy, but, despite everything he couldn't bring himself to care for the boy as he would another human being. For a guy being two and a half centuries of age, it wasn't really one of his high points, maturity wise, feeling like that because of his personal issues with Xander.

They were going to swing by Xander's apartment building and pick them up as soon as they were done here. Angel had an eerie feeling that they wouldn't find them there, but he hadn't spoken his mind. What would be the point?

If she had them – _if_ she did, he doubted that they would be dead yet, which meant that there was still time. He doubted it because he knew that if _he_ had them, they wouldn't be, especially Xander – not for a long while.

'Try and think of places in and around the town that Buffy has a connection to, that she knows', Giles had urged, the requested directed at all of them but clearly at Angel in particular. It was true, he knew this miserable town inside and out, probably almost as well as Buffy. After all he had stalked this place for years either on his own or with Buffy – or actually stalking Buffy, all of which adding up to a broad knowledge of where she could be hiding. At least in theory. But even if he knew the town there was still hundreds of places to search and Buffy wasn't stupid. If she didn't want to be found, she wouldn't make it easy for him. And he was the only one of them that could track her by scent.

He frowned, staring ahead and narrowing his eyes, picking up something, a familiar scent when he inhaled. Well, maybe not the _only_ one… But _this_ particular tracker, he wanted as far away from his business as possible.

Just as Giles exited the shop and locked the door Spike emerged from an alley nearby – trying, if not succeeding, at least not as far as Angel was concerned, to look uninterested, as if he had just happened to stroll by.

"Hello, all. Buffet car caravan ready to head out?"

"Yeah, right," Gunn muttered. "In hopes of bringing in Princess of Darkness tonight."

Spike nodded and looked pointedly at Angel. "Strangled any more milksops since last night, have we?"

"Spike…" he began, sighing. "If you're not here to help, why don't we just skip past the usual hassling and go directly to the part where I physically shove you out of the way with a moving vehicle?"

Spike grinned at the response. Knowing his bastard of a grandsire, knowing him better and for a lot longer than anyone else in this group, he could sense his unbalance. He also knew that the older vampire knew that he could and that he wasn't very happy about it.

But truthfully, as hard as it was for Angel to admit, they could need Spike's help. He might have healed up well since last night but Faith would still be out of commission, fight-wise. That was, if _help_ actually happened to be what Spike had in mind. One never knew with him. Weekly peroxide invasions didn't treat brain cells kindly he was pretty sure and it wasn't like Spike had much to begin with. Angel frowned at his own thoughts. Again with the overwhelming maturity.

"Since we're in such a good mood, think I'll stick around. Might get to see something funny. When you finally snap and do in some of the namby-pambies soul and all, for instance."

"Spike," Angel said again, though it came out as more of a growl, a deep guttural sound which held a clear if unspoken message; back off, and shut up. But since when did Spike heed his warnings?

"Hey, not like I'm judging," he said, holding up his hands briefly in defense. "You know the saying, he who can, does. He who cannot…"

"Gloats?" Faith suggested, getting into the car.

"Well, that. _And_ incite those who can," the younger vampire grinned and Angel avoided his gleeful gaze. He had seen Spike's expression the night before. After all, he was probably the one in this group that knew him best, and especially _that_ side of him. He had seen what had been coming long before anyone else, and he had enjoyed it. There had always been rivalry between the two. If Spike saw anything that told him that his grandsire was unraveling he was sure to be there, poking and pushing.

"Hey, platinum," Faith said, turning to him. "Jump on the soul-train or get of the tracks. You have a shot at getting to beat something into a bloody pulp if you come along, if you keep up this wasting of our time you will BE a bloody pulp. Get the picture?" Spike studied her for a moment, then grinned.

"As if the one-armed-bandit could take me."

"Do you really wanna find out? What would you do to defend yourself anyway what with your little disability, give me your meanest skedaddle? "

Faith looked at Spike for a moment. He smiled, plunging into the driver's seat in Giles' car. "Hop on, grandpa!" Giles frowned and glared at him.

"You're not driving. _Move_."

"Why not? Handled your car pretty well the last time."

"The only journey that car went on after you drove it was to the scrap heap. If you consider that handling it pretty well, then yes…"

"Not my fault the jalopy fell to pieces. Probably would have if you had bloody huffed and puffed on it. THIS car on the other hand…"

"Just move, Spike, we don't have time for this," Angel hissed, clearly at the end of his tether. Spike glared at him, then straightened his back and took a bow, the sarcastic smirk never leaving his face.

"Ah, sod this. As you command, Master of the bloody Soporific Hogwash."


	58. HABITS DIE HARD

* * *

**CHAPTER 58: HABITS DIE HARD  
**

* * *

"Xander, come on!" Willow couldn't hide the high, nervous tone of her voice when she knocked impatiently on the door to Xander's apartment. The gang was waiting downstairs, and the clock was ticking.

Between all of them, they had come up a large number of places that they knew held some form of meaning to Buffy. Giles, being the self assigned organizer in the group, had written them all down and the plan for them was to split into smaller groups to cover more ground quicker. He had given each group a number of places to search with strict orders of being careful and if nothing turned up they would rendezvous outside of Restfield Cemetery later in the night. Willow wasn't sure she loved the idea – the splitting up part of the idea that was. She liked the relative safety that the group provided.

Safety of the group. The group that Xander had walked out on yesterday just because he was mad. She swallowed hard. Of course it worried her, the fact that she had tried calling a few times during the day without any answer adding to that fact. On the other hand, she knew that Xander sometimes unplugged his phone or simply ignored it when he didn't feel like talking. Maybe it was nothing. She was just being paranoid. He was pissed. Maybe he was pissed at her as well because he felt that she hadn't taken his side.

"Xander? Wake up, slowpoke!" she called, cringing at the sound of her voice which held none of the calm and evenness she had intended. She stood and she waited silently for a minute. There was nothing. No answer from inside, no clamping of his feet as he got up from the bed, groaning at her that he was on his way.

"Xander, it's not funny if you're there. We're in a hurry." She tried one last time, looking around nervously. And if you're not there, that's not funny either, she added in thought.

In retrospect, they should have done more to stop Xander from rushing out into the darkness like that. _She_ should have done more. She was his best friend, she could have gotten to him. She could have stopped him and put on her Resolve Face as she made it clear that no matter what had happened between him and Angel would she allow him and Anya run into trouble. Giles or Gunn could have driven them home. That would have been better than this. Anything would have been better than this.

After a moments thought she picked up her cell phone and called Anya's home number. She was pretty sure she still had her own apartment. She waited. No answer. Throwing the door a last concerned look over her shoulder she hurried downstairs to the others.

"He wasn't there," she said as soon as she was close enough, half jogging the distance over to the cars.

"No? Are you sure?" Giles asked, a worried wrinkle appearing on his face. Willow nodded.

"Yeah, I knocked and called him, he's not there. Anya's not home either."

"That's… bad, right?" Cordelia said.

"It is," Angel agreed quickly, not seeming very surprised – or very upset, for that matter – at hearing this. "But there's nothing we can do about that now. Either he didn't make it home last night – or he's angry and off doing something else. If Buffy has him, that's just another reason for us to find her as quickly as possible. If he's out roaming the streets by himself, sulking, we don't have time to chase after him."

Willow glanced carefully at Angel. His anger towards Xander was obviously still lurking just beneath the surface – but it was understandable, she supposed. No matter how angry Xander had been he had said some very unfair things. Angel was entitled to his anger, and he was right. If Buffy had Xander… if she did, then it wouldn't do him any good to stand around here and weep about it. They needed to take action; find Buffy and stop her from doing… whatever she could be doing to him. She shuddered at the thought but realized that getting paralyzed with horror wouldn't do Xander any good either way.

"We need to get going," Angel stated. Willow quickly got into Giles' car, and the three cars headed out in different directions.

* * *

Several hours later a dejected gang gathered outside Restfield Cemetery to confer. They had found nothing, zilch in the way of a lead. Between all of them they seemed to have covered every imaginable spot in the small town that never had seemed bigger.

They had been to the old high school, to - and given her previous lair _under_ – the ice rink past Route 17. They had been to the wreck that used to be Buffy's house at Revello Drive, all the twelve graveyards within the city limits with Restfield being the last, countless abandoned churches and crypts, the old factory, the mall, a few hideouts in the sewers including the place where Buffy died four years ago - the Master's old prison, the subterranean church.

They had even been to a few caves in the surrounding forests and at the beach. They had searched though the old abandoned boarding house Sunnydale Arms where Buffy had her Cruciamentum a little over 2 years ago and they had been all over UC Sunnydale campus.

They had made a quick visit at Willy's bar where a rather imposing Angel had quickly discerned that the snitch knew nothing. At Willow suggestion they had peeked down into what had been the Initiatives high quarters, but the vampire said no one had been there in several months.

Angel had picked up Buffy's scent in a dozen places, but he said that it was too faint to track – Buffy had probably planted her own scent on purpose to throw him off. She didn't want to be found – at least not right away.

It made Willow nauseous to think too closely about why she might want to slow them down.

"Giles, do you have any ideas?" Wesley asked tiredly, removing his glasses and massaging the bridge of his nose with his fingers, seeing the weary group before him, seeing Angel casting a worried glance at the still dark sky. A few more hours and he, and Spike, would be forced inside again which would put a definite stop to the search this time around. With their only present Slayer injured and the vampire's out of commission there was no way the rest of them could risk searching further. Should they encounter Buffy the outcome certainly wouldn't be one he cared to think too long and hard about. It wasn't good, not at all. With Xander and Anya missing and presumably taken by Buffy things were even graver.

The older Watcher, correction, make that older _former_ Watcher, cleared his throat nervously and looked around, clearly out of ideas, having no clue what to say.

"Er, I, I would presume that Buffy would like to be in a place she knows, a place that has some form of meaning to her. A-a personal connection if you will, from... from before. A-and I would have thought the place to have some form of link to, ah, to…" he gestured in Angel's direction. "But of course it's possible that I've gone about gone about it all wrong."

Angel frowned. _He_ had thought about this all wrong. Buffy wouldn't just pick any place, she might not even pick the place where he was most unlikely to look. She wasn't a scared little girl hiding from the big bad under her bed after all. A place she knew, one with a special meaning and association with him? Rarely would the demon – his and hers – and the human, her former, think exactly alike, but this was such a time. Angel frowned, inwardly cursing his stupidity. Of course. It practically reeked of sarcasm while at the same time it fit the habit of human Buffy. It had his own sadism stamped all over it and still he had missed it. But this wasn't the time to beat himself up over that. At least now they had a lead.

"Guys," he spoke. "I think I know where she is."

* * *

Angel knew he had been right as soon as he stepped into the building. No, correction, he knew it as soon as he made his way through the stinking junk-filled alley outside of the building. Through the stench of piss and vomit and week old garbage, all of which had been thoroughly bathed in the hot Californian sunlight and ripened to unimaginable levels, he could catch her scent.

And as soon as he stepped into the building, soundlessly ushering the others in behind him, he could feel her. And that probably meant that she could feel him, too. Slowly making his way to the door he gestured the others to stay close but behind him. He didn't want them crowding him and he didn't want all of them inside instantly as he didn't know what sight would await them on the other side of that door. He knew it wouldn't be good. How bad – he really found no reason to speculate.

This place was filled with memories. Good – perfect, actually, and bad – really bad.

The smell of blood was ripe when Angel pushed open the door to his old apartment. It was years ago, that night when he last saw Buffy here, but as clear as the memories were it might as well have been yesterday.

He remembered his own thoughts, how carefully he had considered how he should approach her when he first met her after- well, _after_. How to break the joyous news to her in the way that would devastate and shatter her most? He remembered being pleased with the outcome. It hadn't been hard to keep up the charade. It was all part of the game, one he loved to play. And after hundreds of years of practice, he was something of an expert.

He remembered his own coldness and the feeling of disgust at how she had made him feel – loved, closer to human than he had been in a long, long time. No greater insult was possible to the demon in him, of course. And she, everyone around her, had paid a horrible price for it.

The notion that she had kept on loving him after all that was near absurd – either that or impressive, he wasn't sure, it was a fine line between the two options. But she had, and so here they were today. Despite everything, here they were.

For an abandoned building, the place looked pretty much as when he had left it, except for some rubble, broken furniture and trash on the floor left behind by squatters, some graffiti on the walls. He remembered having killed the landlord that night, arranging the body in his bed and leaving a bouquet of roses and a note for his girlfriend to find. Sort of a macabre way of terminating his lease. Obviously no one had been renting it officially since then.

He had seen more than most. Safe to say he wasn't easily fazed. He had seen Buffy's handiwork up close, even killed beside her – he already knew what she was capable of.

But no matter how much he had seen, or done, or seen _her_ do before tonight, it was still a cringing sight to see _Buffy_ crouched next to Xander who was sitting on the floor, barely conscious, tied up and half naked, calmly slicing shallow cuts in his bare chest and stomach, licking the blood that seeped out. The man had numerous bites, cuts and bruises.

She grinned cruelly and seemed endlessly fascinated by the pain she caused her long time friend, watching his every twitch, enjoying every moan of pain. A true sadist – just like himself. He had seen and executed enough torture to see that this had gone on for many hours now.

The pain he felt upon seeing this wasn't for himself and in all honesty it wasn't really primarily for Xander either, no matter how heartless that may sound – that would be hypocritical of him after all, considering the pictures he-the demon, which ever, had flashed through his mind last night – it was mostly for Buffy herself. If they ever succeeded to bring her back, he knew what the memory of this, the details of all of it, her friend's pain and more importantly her joy and satisfaction at his pain would do to her. He _knew _ what it would do to her, because he knew what it had done to _him_ for over a hundred years now.

The knowledge of that made him question whether this was really the right thing to do, causing her even further suffering and pain by bringing back her conscience. It would be the ultimate torture and there was no guarantee that she would ever recover fully from this, knowing what she had done and what the demon in her, the demon _he_ had turned her into, was capable of. The others, they couldn't understand, not like him. Unfortunately he was something of an expert on that subject, too.

But there was no time for those thoughts right now. As soon as Buffy saw him she dropped the knife and leapt to her feet, grinning. She looked pleased. She wanted him to see this. Xander's blood was on his hands as well, in a way, and she relished that fact, he could see it in her eyes. He knew that look very well. It was a form of torment he was very familiar with. When he killed Jenny Calendar a part of the satisfaction in watching Buffy's reaction lay in him knowing that she knew that she could probably have done something to stop it if she hadn't turned her back on the teacher because of her personal issues with her at the time. Adding a bit of guilt to the pain and horror was like a cherry on the top and she had learned quickly. His demon was proud.

Angel silently motioned for Willow and Giles to help Xander. Faith and Gunn held their loaded tranquilizer guns ready.

"Uh-oh. Here comes trouble," she laughed, unfazed by the overwhelming odds of her being alone against many as she advanced towards him.

Wasting no time with words, a grimly determined Angel effectively blocked her first attack and tackled her, slamming her against the wall. She just laughed. "Ooh nice, I like it when you're rough."

Angel heard her teeth clack together when his uppercut caught her in the jaw. The only thing he had to do was to give Faith and Gunn clear shots - and not risk getting hit himself in the process.

He didn't want to hurt her but on the other hand, if he held back just a little she would probably beat him, and they couldn't afford that. With him out of the way he knew that she would escape and he knew that she would punch and possibly kill her way through anyone that was in her way – which in this instance happened to be all of her friends, the few people she had left in this world. He couldn't let that happen, and he couldn't let her get away again. This had to end, _now_.

He grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head back hard, using his grip to pull her into position in front of himself. At the last second she grabbed his arms and flipped him over her head. Angel landed with a grunt, but managed to kick up to his feet just in time to avoid her foot stomping his gut.

He grabbed her ankle midair and gave it a good twist, sending her spinning with a move he had seen her use herself many times. She landed in a half crouch, unfazed, leaping back to her feet and landing a vicious kick to his chest, sending him flying backwards smacking into the large bureau before landing on the bed next to the cold and stiff corpse of a naked young man. She was on him before he had time to respond, straddling him and smirking.

"Ooh, this bed is just full of dead men … let's see if we can get those pretty little birdies going again!" She laughed as her renewal of his own words smacked him. She tried to hit him, but Angel managed to catch her fist in his hand. Surprising her, he pushed her arm backwards with full force, throwing her off balance and getting up from the bed. In one smooth motion he spun her around and pulled her body back into his, wrapping one arm around her throat and the other around her waist.

"NOW!" he screamed.

Gunn and Faith hit her with, in total, six shots of tranquilizer in the chest. Her body immediately went limp in Angel's arms. He looked towards Giles and Willow, who were crouched on the floor next to Xander's now unconscious form. Giles examined pulse and breathing. Cordelia and Wesley remained standing at the door, Cordelia with a large wooden cross raised, glaring suspiciously at Buffy's limp body.

"He's alive, but there seems to be a substantial blood loss. We have to get him to a hospital immediately," Giles said, his jaw clenched as he avoided looking directly at Angel. Neither of them needed to be reminded that a few years ago it had been Giles who was the torture victim, and by his hand.

Angel nodded briefly as the information was superfluous in his mind. He already knew that Xander was still alive, and going by the odors coming off him and filling the apartment, he could tell pretty much what the damages where, this deep knowledge regarding torture victims however not being something he intended to share with the others, and especially not with the former Watcher.

"Oh, God," Willow said, only now seeing and registering the dead man in the bed. "That's Parker." Angel gave the savaged body a quick glance and looked at her, none the wiser.

"Who?"

"Oh, he's…" she faltered, realizing that Angel had no idea who Parker Abrams was and that this really wasn't the time to tell him that story. "He goes to the college. Or... did. We, um, we know-I mean knew him." Angel nodded, saying nothing, draping the sheets over the body to cover it with one arm, still supporting Buffy's limp body with the other..

"We have to get her to the mansion and chain her up before she comes around." He turned back to them, indicating Buffy's still form.

"Has anyone seen Anya?" Willow asked, looking around. "She can't be far away, right?"

"Over here," they heard Spike's voice from further inside the apartment. Everyone moved in that direction. Angel looked at Buffy one more time, then put her down gently on the floor and followed the others. If in all unlikeliness she were to move, Cordelia would let them know.

There she was, pale and still. Buffy had put her on the couch.

"Is she…?" Willow began.

"Yeah Red, she is," Spike said as he leaned forward and turned Anya's head to the side. They all saw the telltale bite mark on the side of her neck. Not just there for that matter. She had several bite marks on her arms and wrists – Buffy had obvious had some fun while draining her.

"Oh my god," Willow said again. "What has she done to her?"

"Toyed with her, pet," Spike explained. He gave Angel a look. "Picked that up from her sire, eh?"

"Shut up, Spike," Angel bit back. This wasn't the time.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Spike muttered. "That time of the month, eh? Mind the princess hormonal bloody angst."

"Man, couldn't she have been sired?" Gunn asked silently. Angel nodded.

"Yeah, we'll have to watch her closely."

"Uh, wouldn't chains be a good idea?" Spike stated.

"It's not necessary yet. If she has been turned, she won't rise until tomorrow night."

"You just know that?" he scoffed. Angel sighed.

"Yes, I know that, Spike. Being from my line, if she would rise tonight I would sense it. You would as well if you put your mind to it but I guess that would be thinking too much of you." Spike glared at him and shrugged.

"Let's move out," Angel went on commandingly, ignoring Spike's look. "Giles, you and Willow take Xander to the hospital. As soon as you're done there, get to the mansion. We'll want to do the spell as soon as possible."


	59. MIRROR SELF

* * *

**CHAPTER 59: MIRROR SELF**

* * *

Just over an hour later Angel secured the last chain with a heavy padlock. He took a step back and regarded the scene before him. There was no way Buffy would get out of these restraints. Her feet were chained to the footboard, and this was no meekly bed. Her hands were chained both to the headboard and to the stonewall behind the bed where, conveniently, there were already manacles set up. They had been there for years. He could remember clearly the night when Drusilla set them up – well, actually, _she_ wasn't technically the one to put them there – but it wasn't something he wanted to dwell on. Right now, it was a good thing. It had saved them some time.

At Cordelia's suggestion they had also used regular handcuffs to bind her feet together, leaving practically no room for moving her legs at all. Most of the manacles were brought from Los Angeles – the others quickly understood that Cordelia and Wesley had some experience in the restraining area.

"Yep, that's how my fabulous LA life turned out, you know," Cordelia commented. "Glamour never seems further away than when you're chaining your vampire boss to the bed to keep yourself off his lunch menu."

"Sounds like a pretty good tagline for a kinky movie though," Faith remarked, quirking a grin and Angel, suddenly very glad that Spike and Xander, whom surely would have seen fit to insert some snark to follow up that comment weren't present, desperately wished that someone would change subject.

Spike had been put on Anya watching duty. He had taken her body back to his crypt where she would be kept until they were sure whether she would rise as a vampire or not.

Giles and Willow had just returned from leaving Xander in the capable hands of the hospital personnel where he was being treated for his injuries. While his life wasn't in any immediate danger he was in pretty bad shape. The immediate treatment including a thorough cleaning of his wounds, some of the cuts required stitches, rabies shot treatment considering his numerous "animal bites", he was given some fluids, blood and iron supplements and put on strong antibiotics. All they could do was hope was that they had given his body what it needed to heal itself.

From what he had been able to see, Angel was pretty sure that he would be alright in time. As far as sadistic bodily torture went, Xander had gotten off easy. Buffy had just scratched the surface, and that even being literally true. All of his parts were still attached… and no chainsaw in sight.

Angel could see that Willow had been crying when she stepped into the mansion, could smell the drying tears on her face even though she had wiped them off. It was just another horror filled night in Sunnydale and Willow would probably have liked to stay at her friend's side – but other things were more pressing right now.

Angel stared at Buffy where she lay on the bed. She was still as death. Literally. Her golden hair was neatly smoothed out on the pillow that supported her head. Her skin held a deathly pallor that contrasted sharply against the dark clothes that she wore – but in his eyes, she was as beautiful as ever.

"At least we can be…ah, fairly certain she won't be able to get loose, should she wake up before we are done with the spell," Giles said, taking a step forward and glancing at the restraints whilst forcing away the emotions that stirred up in him at the sight of this. His Slayer – a year ago healthy and happy and alive, now dead and turned demon, strapped to her vampire lover's bed, ready to have a soul spell that they had no idea whether it would work or what the consequences might be performed on her. The only way he could deal with this was by keeping his distance, emotionally, stay numb enough not to feel too much.

"Yeah, great," Angel muttered. "Now, just grab the book and let's get this done," he went on.

Giles froze mid movement, staring at Angel, horror struck.

"The book? Angel, I don't find that particularly amusing." Angel stared back at him.

"Yes, the book. The Sumerian spell book? You had it when we left LA."

"I-I… No. I didn't take it. You said you took the book." Angel felt his adrenaline rising. This wasn't happening. It couldn't _possibly_ be happening. He held a great deal of respect towards Giles, and with their history they both generally stayed out of each others way as much as possible, but in this instant, he was ready to strangle the man.

"No, I didn't," he said, fighting to keep calm. "I said YOU shouldn't forget to bring it!" Giles immediately removed his glasses and started cleaning them and Angel suppressed the strong urge to yank them away from him and shatter them against the stone walls.

"Dear lord." In his frustration Angel started pacing the room. Gunn watched them both, displaying their distress in different ways.

"Hey, it's no big deal. The book's in the hotel, right?" Angel nodded.

"Yeah. Sure. In the hotel. That is over 90 miles away," he said pointedly between clenched teeth.

"That is, assuming that no hellbeast has swallowed the entire hotel or something. Or that the entire building exploded," Cordelia supplied helpfully. Angel glared at her. "What? Happened once."

"Good, then I suggest someone gets it. It's not around the world – I'm sure I can do the trip both ways in less than five hours… with the right car." Gunn looked at Angel.

"Sure. Take it." He threw a grinning Gunn the keys.

"Cool!" As he turned around and went out the door, Angel couldn't refrain from shouting after him.

"Be careful with it!" He turned to Giles and drew a deep breath to collect himself. It was an honest mistake, no more Giles' fault than his own, he told himself. But it still didn't mean he wanted to sit around with all this people twiddling his thumbs in uncomfortable silence until Gunn returned.

Well – it would only be an uncomfortable silence until Buffy woke up, which she surely would soon. Even that many tranquilizer darts wouldn't knock out a vampire for more than a few hours, tops. And when she woke up, he guessed that there wouldn't be much silence of any kind.

"Why don't you and the others go home and rest for a few hours," he suggested, trying not to sound too eager. "You go with him," he said, looking at Faith, Wesley and Cordelia. "There's nothing you can do here until Gunn comes back with the book."

Giles opened his mouth to object, but Angel stopped him.

"She'll come around soon and when she does, she won't be nice. She's locked up tight, so everything she can do is talk, but there is no reason for the rest of you to be here and listen to it." There was no need to clarify who 'she' was, of course. Besides that, Angel couldn't wait to get these people out of his hair. It had been a long night and he welcomed the thought of some peace and quiet, at least for a little while.

Giles looked down and nodded in defeat. "Well, alright then, if you're… sure you can handle her by yourself, and..."

"I'll be fine," Angel cut him short, then turned to Buffy, unnecessarily once again checking her restraints and thus signaling that the conversation was over. Giles and the others quickly cleared out of the mansion, and soon Angel heard the sound of a car engine starting and disappearing down the road.

He sighed in relief and sank down into a sitting position on the floor, resting his head in his hands, relieved to be alone. The solitude and the complete silence, not even the sound of a heartbeat or someone breathing occupying his space gave him a smidge of inner peace that was very well needed right now.

After maybe fifteen minutes of sitting and staring he got up and attended to the fireplace for a minute. Not that he needed the fire really; the heat made no actually difference for his body, but still, as most vampire's he was attracted to the heat. There was a reason why so many of them were residing in southern California after all, instead of someplace a little less known for its sunlight. In his long years, he had traveled through most if Europe and Asia, experiences weather and climate of every kind. And, residing in places where temperatures were often well below freezing was when you lacked the ability to regulate your own body temperature was… uncomfortable.

When he was happy with the fire he sat back down again but this time his brooding was soon interrupted by the rattling of chains from the bedroom. He flinched and got to his feet.

She was awake.

"You've got me all chained to the bed, again," he heard her voice, even and calculating, taunting him. She knew he was there and that he was alone.

"Always knew you liked to see me all weak and helpless, turns you on, right? Makes you feel big and strong? Well, while I'm here, why don't you come and play, I'm all ready for you. We'll give true happiness another try. You show me yours and I'll show you mine. Maybe there's some savaging left you haven't tried on this body yet," she went on. He considered whether go try to ignore her or sit with her in the bedroom. Both options were equally exciting – she'd go on and on either way, and no matter where he was, he would hear her with perfect clarity.

"What's the matter, Angel? Equipment not working right?" she mocked when she got no response. "You know the saying, use it or lose it. Come on, lover, I'll be gentle. Okay, not really, but I'll give you the ride of a lifetime," she called again. "Just not, you know, yours. Or mine. That's a stupid saying anyhow."

Pause.

"Come on, what are we playing here, the game of silence? You wanna torture me? Oops, been there, done that. You all tapped out?"

He continued to ignore her. Unfortunately, it just seemed to spur her on.

"Come on," she whined. "I'm hungry. There was this cute guy working in The Espresso Pump last night. Get him for me. If you're not up to speed with things, maybe he'll get me off. One way or the other."

Angel didn't want her hungry. She'd only get more irritable and difficult. He went into the kitchen and warmed up a mug of blood. She wrinkled her nose in disgust the minute he walked in the bedroom with it.

"I want something fresh and warm," she pouted.

"It's fresh from the butcher and I just heated it up," Angel replied, already knowing that's not what she meant.

"Yeah, okay, uh-huh. What we have here is a failure to communicate. Or possibly a failure of basic brain function. I want something human," she said petulantly, like a child asking for a pony.

"That's not going to happen, Buffy and you know it." Her smooth, beautiful features distorted into a sardonic grin.

"Come on, Angel. You can't fool me. I know you want it too. I've seen the way you look at Faith. I know what you'd like to do with her. You want to savage her, over and over, and then sink your teeth into her soft smooth flesh and rip her throat out. Isn't that right? You want to feel her hot, strong Slayer blood in your mouth, pulsing down your throat. I bet she tastes just like me. Imagine feeling that strong, tight body under you, when you're taking her 'til she has no more screaming in her." Angel stared emotionlessly at her. "We can take her together. Bet you and Darla used to do that all the time."

"Buffy, if you're hungry you're going to have to settle for pig's blood," he deadpanned, determined not to give her what she wanted, which was to show any signs of her psychological warfare affecting him. Which it wasn't, really. He wasn't easily fazed. Buffy was going up against the wrong guy if she wanted to use words and mind games to throw him off balance.

"No thanks, I'd rather starve." She glared at him. She followed him with her eyes as he set the mug on the nightstand and turned to leave. "Did it turn you on to drink my mother? Dear little _mommy_. Or Dawn? Tell me; having tried all three, which Summers woman got your juices flowing best? Do you have a preference or did we all taste the same to you?"

He stared sadly at this perverted, warped image of the woman he loved, self-hatred threatening to consume him when he thought about being the one responsible for this. And that things would never be what they had been before, even _if_ the soul restoration succeeded. No, he had successfully managed to ruin the life of the only woman he had ever loved. She wouldn't ever have her humanity, innocence or family back.

The worst thing of all being that somewhere, deep in his subconscious, he, some part of him anyway _liked_ this, and it relished the look of her like this. That sick part of him, the demon, felt pride for this, his creation. Now here she was, perfect, beautiful and strapped down for the taking. Having nothing do to with love, these raw, animalistic desires of violence and dominance came from a place rooted deeply inside him that never went away, no matter how soul-having he was. It wasn't exactly urges he was proud of.

"Make you all hot and bothered, hmm, to drain my little sister?" Buffy smiled. "Did you screw her? Bet you wanted to. She was young and sweet and all virginal… Just like I used to be, remember? Oh come on, don't tell me you're not into rape! Rape is good. No better way to rob a girl of all her innocence and self-esteem, right? Killing is effective, sure, but it's so… permanent." She grinned wickedly. "Or, well, it _can_ be."

Angel turned around and started off towards the door but he never reached it until she spoke again.

"You know, this self-flagellation thing, 'boo-hoo I was so bad so now I just wanna crawl up and hide from the world' is getting tired. You need to accept what you are and do something about it. Embrace your _passions_." Angel winced at that as he slowly, hesitantly turned back to face her.

"Passion can be unpredictable. And destructive."

"It's also everything there is. So if you ignore it, then what are you? _Nothing_."

"No. Ten years ago, maybe five years ago even, you would have been right. But I've become something – someone. You helped me with that," he said softly, however obviously knowing that his words would have no effect on her in this stage.

"Cute," she sneered. "But see, that's just it though. You wander the world like a ghost for decades and decades, and let's not linger on the patheticness of the fact that it's _love_ that finally pulls you out of it… let's focus on the fact that you had it, and then you abandoned it. Turned your back on it again and again."

"You know why."

"No I don't. And please, spare me the why's and the how come's. That tune is getting old. This thing you do, go around all miserable, destroy everything around you just to feel less worthless? You like it, don't you? You like the misery. Gives you an excuse to act on your impulses, your instincts… If something doesn't agree with you, eliminate it. Or maybe strangle it, as it was. The others, they fear it, because they _know_ what you can do. They look at me and they see what you turned me into and they know that if you managed that, none of them stands a chance. Fear makes you feel powerful, doesn't it? Soul or no soul, doesn't matter. It's innate. Who you are."

Angel drew a deep unneeded breath. "It's who I _was_."

"It's who you'll _always_ be. I know you, and I know that there's some part inside of you that still remembers what you truly are… that craves for it. Nothing but clarity… forever."

"Forever," he echoed absently and she nodded.

"That's the whole point." She pulled her chains a little but they didn't give away even an inch. "I could release you. Think about it. We could have that clarity together for an eternity. What do you say?"

Angel chuckled a little at this. "I'd say that even if – there is no way you could give me perfect happiness like _this_. I damned you. The thought of that will never stop plaguing me. The sight of this will never stop tormenting me. I hate myself for what I've turned you into."

Buffy assumed a mock sweet expression, pouting, crinkling her forehead and knitting her eyebrows together, her eyes however still cold and hard. "Aww. That's so sweet." When she said nothing else, Angel turned to leave again, but again he never made it to the door.

"So you have confidence in your self-control then. Finally gotten a hold of that slippery demon that lurks inside and caged it for good, have you? I'm happy for you, really. Must feel good not to worry that the curse thingy might break all over again, one of those days when you feel just a little too comfortable with what you have… and not have worry about being unable to keep yourself in check around all of them pesky humans."

Angel froze and could practically feel her gaze burning into his back. She had struck a nerve, and she knew it. Of all the things she could say to him, all the obscenities she could throw in his face and try to shock him with, addressing his fear of not being able to maintain self-control, of the risk of once more losing his soul, and the fear of what might happen if he did, was one of the few things that could actually get to him. And she knew it.

When he turned back to her, she leered at him.

"What's with the dour? I thought you had nothing to worry about." She smiled winningly. Angel swallowed hard, realizing that no matter what he said now, she would be the one leaving this conversation triumphant. She had ferreted out his weakness, exploited it, and there wasn't much he could do to undo that. Turning again without another word he walked out of the room and shut the door behind him. Closing the door was a gesture more than anything else. He would still hear her. There was at least three more hours of this before Gunn would come back.

"You know, I'm disappointed here. You're _nothing_. As a villain, you were awesome. As a do-gooder, you're just a simpering, dewy-eyed fool," she yelled after him.

She spent the next hour screaming words at Angel he didn't even know was in Buffy's vocabulary. Finally, sitting on the couch and shutting out the sound the last few days, stress and injuries and lack of rest, got the better off him and he drifted off into a troubled sleep.

* * *

_Angel awoke with a jerk, looking around the room in confusion. How long had he been asleep? Remembering Buffy in the bedroom he sprung to his feet so quickly that he almost tripped over himself. Running across the main room he entered the bedroom, still disoriented, almost dizzy. Swinging the door open to reveal…_

_She was gone. _

_The covers on the bed were rumpled and the shackles were all still there, they didn't even look broken or discarded, they just lay there on the bed. Walking closer he saw that they weren't even opened. It was just as if she had disintegrated into thin air. No, not air, he realized. The bed was covered in ashes. Buffy's ashes. He let his fingers run through it, staring at it in shock._

_What had happened here?_

_Turning around, he found himself no longer in the mansion, but outdoors. Light, ever so bright hurting his eyes. Sun. He looked up at the sky, blinking to adjust his eyes. He was in a graveyard and he realized that he was surrounded by mourners. He couldn't see their faces; they were covered by veils and hats. But he could see the casket that was just about to be lowered into the ground. It was open. He walked up to it, slowly and carefully, afraid of what he would find in there. _

_There she was._

_She looked peaceful. Her eyes were closed, the sun shone on her pale face and she wore a black silk long dress and she looked beautiful. He stretched out a hand to touch her but froze in the middle of the motion when she opened her eyes. _

"_Buffy?"_

_She sat up in the coffin, looking around. The mourners seemed oblivious. She stared at him, eyes unemotional and distant, but not soulless._

"_When the time comes, you won't save me."_

"_What?" he stared back at her, uncomprehending. "Of course I will. I always will." He paused for a second. "I'll try, anyway."_

"_You can't. You have to let go sometime. Some things aren't forever." She kept staring at him._

"_I thought that was the whole point," he heard himself say, having a strange sense of déjà vu. _

"_Human weakness," she continued. Again, he stared at her, not understanding._

"_Human weakness?" he repeated._

"_You have it. She does, too."_

"_Buffy, you're not making any sense," he said, reaching out to touch her, but she jerked away and swung out of the coffin. She walked past him and when he turned around to follow her, the mourners were gone and more coffins filled the patch of green where they had been. Lots of coffins. Piled on top of each other. _

"_What – what is this?" She turned to him._

"_We live in a world of death," she spoke without emotion. "But you can't stop everything. Shouldn't, even." He shook his head, getting increasingly bewildered._

"_What is it I can't stop? Buffy, you have to tell me." _

_A man completely dressed in black walked in front of the coffins, turning to Angel and revealing his face. Giles. He stared blankly at him as if he wasn't even there. He held up a book as if reading from it, but he didn't look at the pages when he spoke._

"_Only in the presence of death will the Slayer find salvation, her essence made whole, destiny fulfilled."_

"_Death?" Angel looked around, at the coffins behind Giles, at Buffy's empty coffin. "This is about death? Whose death?" He looked at Buffy. She stretched out her arms and stared at her palms. He could see that they were soaked with dark red blood. _

"_No time."_

"Angel, man, you awake?" Angel awoke with a jerk – again. Was it again? No, no, it was a dream before, right? Gunn was standing across the room, leaning against the door frame. He was back.

He must have been asleep for hours.

"Huh? Yeah… yeah, sure. When did you get back?" He was still disoriented, having an uneasy feeling from the dream. He slowly got to his feet.

"Just now," Gunn replied. "Where are the others?"

"I sent them home. Uh, just after you left. Figured they might as well get some rest." Gunn nodded. "Do you have the book?" He held it up.

"Sure thing. It was right where you left it."

"Good." He froze, realizing that it was alarmingly silent. "My God, Buffy."

"Angel, it's…"

He quickly brushed by Gunn and swung the door to the bedroom open, remembering his dream and expecting to find Buffy gone. How could he let himself fall asleep? Gunn came up behind him.

"I tried to tell you, it's cool. Checked on her first thing."

Angel looked at his beautiful girl, now peacefully at rest and sleeping soundly.

"That girl's got a long road ahead of her," Gunn said.

No one would ever guess that she had tortured and killed dozens of people in the last few days. Then again, no one would ever guess that he had been at her side just a few days ago, rejoicing as he watched his creation develop into a true creature of evil. So much blood on her hands, and it was his fault. But she wouldn't see it that way, he knew that. If the soul spell worked, she would blame herself, be in infinite agony and suffering because of what he had turned her into.

In sleep she looked so innocent, like a child. He hadn't seen her like that for years, well, probably not really since before her seventeenth birthday, Angel realized with a pang of guilt. Things had been easy back then. Well, as easy as they could be, living such lives, or unlives as they did. But back then she _was_ innocent, she was human, barely more than a child, having seen so much and yet so very little of life. She was happy, she had a family and friends ans he was unexposed to being betrayed and tormented by someone she loved.

And now?

"A very long road," he whispered.


	60. DELIVERANCE

* * *

**CHAPTER 60: DELIVERANCE**

* * *

It was early afternoon when everyone had finally gathered back up again and were finished setting everything up for the soul spell.

Against Angel's better judgment, Giles had decided it best to tranquilize Buffy again before the spell. The oil Willow was going to anoint her in was holy – and therefore going to burn her, and she wasn't being very cooperative. While Angel argued that the only thing she could do in her restraints was to scream at them, Giles thought it was safer to have her sedated and the others seemed to agree.

Angel wondered whether their agreement just might have something to do with the things she had said to, and yelled at them since they came back to the mansion.

While Willow and Giles made the final arrangements in the main room, Wesley handled the sedation under Angel's strong supervision. Buffy watched their every step, ready to take even the smallest opening to do some damage, but there wasn't much she could do in her tight restraints. As soon as she saw Wesley filling a syringe she started yanking her chains, writhing to get free.

"It won't hurt you Buffy," Wesley tried to reason with her, even though he knew it was a waste of breath. "It'll only make you sleepy."

"Fuck off, Pryce," she snapped at him. "If I wanted to sleep, I would. Why don't you go back to being the useless shit you always have been. High and mighty, worthless wannabe-watcher prick. You never did anything good. Couldn't even make your Daddy proud. Why can't you be more like him?"

"My father is dead, Buffy," Wesley said emotionlessly and she sneered at him.

"You catch on quickly, don't you?" She turned to Angel, smiling triumphantly. "Need I remind you _who_ killed him?"

Angel stood on the side with his hands in his pockets, silently watching them. When Wesley searched for a vein on Buffy's arm – it wasn't the easiest task on a vampire – Buffy changed tactics. She looked up on Angel with tear filled eyes, somehow managing to imitate her heartbroken, human and soulful self perfectly.

"Angel, please, don't let him do this to me." Her face crumbled. "I'm scared. Please, make it stop." Angel took a deep breath and turned a bit, not facing her anymore. Even though he knew very well that it wasn't her and that the demon was acting, it was hard seeing her like that. He had seen Buffy heartbroken a lot, been the cause of her grief himself most of the times actually, and the sight of her like this was an uncomfortably vivid reminder of the past.

"Please, Angel, I _love you_, why won't you… help me…" her voice trailed off as the tranquilizer hit her.

Wesley put the syringe and sedative back in its leather bag and put them away. "She was just trying to manipulate you, Angel," he said without looking up.

"I know that!" Angel snapped, harsher than he intended to be. Wesley looked at him. "I'm sorry. This is just… hard."

"It is, for everyone, even more so for you I imagine. We will make this right," he reassured, squeezing Angel's shoulder briefly in comfort, hoping that he came across more confident than he felt.

Angel grimaced at that. How could they ever make this right?

"We have to. It's just, I…" he faltered, unsure if he really wanted to share his fears with Wesley, anyone at all for that matter, but decided that he might as well, remembering their argument before, in LA, when Wesley expressed his own concerns. "I just can't help but think that… what if this is a lost cause. What if we're wrong in doing this? What if she…" he broke himself off, unable to continue. Wesley shrugged slightly, seeming unsure how to reply at first.

"Causes are only lost when people give up," he said finally. "You went through this, alone, and you made it through." He paused for a second. "It won't be like that for Buffy. She has people willing to go to extraordinary lengths for her... people that won't give up. She has you."

Wesley gave him a brief and faint smile, then the moment was passed and he returned to his British stoicism and turned to leave.

Angel wasn't sure it was much comfort. In the end, you're always alone, he thought, giving Buffy's unconscious form one last look. Or at least so he had learned over the course of his very long life.

He followed Wesley into the main room. Buffy wasn't quite visible from where the crystals were set up in a triangle according to the instructions in the text, but it was as close as they could get. The main room was the only space large enough to house the spell and they didn't want to risk moving Buffy, unconscious or not. They didn't know exactly how long the spell would take, or how the magic would affect her. The thought of what might happen if she would wake up during the spell wasn't very pleasant. The instructions for the spell had said that she needed to be in their vicinity, but not necessarily within sight, so it should be alright either way.

Willow stood with a thoughtful expression, reading the English translation of the spell, glancing up hastily when she saw Wesley and Angel enter the room. Angel noted that she looked a little pale and he could hear her heartbeat, quicker than it should be. She was nervous, fidgety even, and who could blame her. It was a lot on the line today, and in addition she had spent the last hour or so listening to Buffy's more or less - mostly, more - detailed descriptions of what she would do to the 'mousy worthless witch bitch' when she got free being shouted through the wall.

It didn't matter that it was the demon talking or that Buffy was safely restrained. Hearing one's best friend talking about how she planned to maim you, torture techniques, and oh by the way how sweet Xander tasted and how ironically funny it was that he got a hard-on when she cut into him and drained him, would unnerve anyone. Well, anyone except for Angel. He knew what she was doing.

"Remember Miss Calendar?" Buffy had said, knowing exactly which nerve to strike and even though he was out of her sight, she must have _felt_ Giles' reaction. "Remember when we went to her funeral? How we all pretended that we really cared about her just 'cause she was dead? Of course, maybe you did. Some kind of geek-gay crush thing going on, what do I know. What do you think they'll talk about on your funeral? Would you prefer to be recognizable, or is it all the same to you if I send you six feet under in six pieces? I think Angel should have a say in this. Tell me, honey, was there any thought behind the decision to leave the gypsy bitch intact except for breaking her neck? Would leaving a piece of her in each of our beds been too much even for you?"

Of course, having slaughtered her way through Los Angeles with him before he got his soul back, she must now that it wasn't so. He had done his share of maiming over the centuries. It just hadn't been what he had in mind for Jenny Calendar. But Buffy had a creative mind and when she was chained up and physically incapable of hurting them, she tried to do as much damage as possible using only words. And judging by Willow's expression, she was doing a good job, and 'her sire must be proud', she eagerly told them.

"Is everything... um. Is she...?" Willow cast a nervous glance in the direction of the bedroom.

"She is sedated," Wesley assured her and the witch looked genuinely relieved.

"Oh, good," she said, then caught herself with sounding a little too pleased. She looked guiltily at Angel. "I mean, uh, I just mean, it's good, 'cause, 'cause that means we can begin. Was what I meant."

Angel just nodded. "So why don't you tell us about this spell, how it's supposed to work?" he suggested, gliding over the subject of Buffy.

"The basic thought is really a lot like the, ah, the gypsy curse, you know, calls on the same kind of power, summoning the soul from the ether to be transferred via the crystals," she said. "Only they don't call it a curse as much as a gift. And you know, no, um… clause. Okay, so this An…"

"Sumerian god of heaven, a king of gods of sorts," Wesley cut in.

Willow nodded. "Right. That's the one I'm praying to." She put the book down and picked up the small urn with oil and glanced at Angel before she went into the bedroom. He followed her far enough to see what happened and watched from a distance as she carefully poured oil on Buffy's forehead, wrists and chest. The oil was supposed to form something that the spell called "the triangle of life", including body, mind and the, if things went according to plan, soul. The forehead represented the mind, the hands the body and the chest the soul. There was a slight hissing sound when the oil burned her skin.

"Okay, that's the first part," she muttered as she came back. "Now for the pleading of it. So, okay, this is a little different, we need one person behind every crystal, and all three has to be close to Buffy in one way or another. The, um, the god, Anu, was the oldest god in the Sumerian Pantheon and he was part of a triad with two other gods, Enlil, god of the sky and Enki, god of water. So I guess we're kinda assuming their parts in this."

Willow's seated herself behind one of the crystals. Angel took one and Giles the third. They sat uncomfortably for a moment, contemplating what they were about to do and how much was on the line. Willow and Giles and the others were probably mostly concerned about what they would do if the spell should fail. Angel was equally worried about the spell succeeding, knowing what it would result in. His gaze darted around and he swallowed hard. He was sitting very close to the spot where he had been sent to hell three years ago. He would rather go back there than having to put Buffy through this purgatory.

At first, Giles chanted in Sumerian. Angel didn't know the language well enough to follow exactly, but he could guess what was said, more or less. When Giles was finished it was Willow's turn to finish the spell with an English translation.

"Okay, this is it," Willow said. She cleared her throat and began to read.

"We call upon An, Enlil, Enki, hear me, great deities. We plead with you, guide Buffy's soul, find what is lost and return the core to her." Everyone watched as the three crystals started glowing bright, much like the orb of Thesulah.

"An, we implore you, do not ignore our plea. Bring it back. Make her more than beast, gift her with her human soul, bring it home again. Use the crystals as your token, carry out as these last few words are spoken."

The crystals glowed brighter and brighter and shortly after Willow had finished the incantation the energy seemed to disappear and they returned to dark.

"That's it?" Cordelia asked from where she was standing.

"I guess," Willow said, slowly getting up from the floor. She looked warily in the direction of the bedroom. "I wonder if it worked."

Angel was sure it had worked. As soon as the spell was done, the familiar, strong sensation he always had when Buffy was near returned. It was much stronger than when she was soulless.

"It worked," he said with certainty.

"Are you sure?" Cordelia persisted. "Cause we wouldn't want to release Hellbitch Buffy if she's not all sniffling."

"It worked," Angel said, with more edge this time. "I can feel her."

"Alright, alright," Giles said, sensing the growing tension. "Although I do not doubt your word, Angel, we should wait and see. She should come around in a few hours time."

Angel stared at them and seeing their faces and looks he recognized for the first time really how little these people truly understood about what had been done here today. He shouldn't be surprised, after all, how could they know any better?

Giles was being practical of course and his wish to remain present until they could see for themselves that the spell had truly succeeded was understandable. But there was no way Angel was going to allow them to stay here and watch Buffy as she regained consciousness. No way. She wouldn't be able to face them all at once immediately. She might get violent, she might flee – she might even kill herself. The presence of her friends wouldn't be of any help in the beginning. Later, maybe. But at first, he knew that she wouldn't be able to see past her guilt and self-hatred and the presence of people that cared for her, that she had wronged, would only add to that. Unfortunately, he was something of an expert on the subject.

This wouldn't be like the last time they restored her soul, nothing like it. This wouldn't be fixed by a hug and a pat on the shoulder and a 'we're so glad you're back'. If Buffy made it through at all with any sanity intact – he could only hope that her strength would be great enough – it would be because she was given the needed time and space to work through it.

They all feared for her and for her soul, they had that in common. But Giles and the other's viewpoint was a lot different than Angel's. He hoped that they would trust him enough to be fine with leaving the responsibility to him and withdraw willingly… but if they didn't, that was fine too. Either way, they weren't going to be around when she woke up.

"No," he said firmly. "You're all gone, for the time being. I'll stay with her."

"Angel," the Watcher began, and his face hardened as he went on. "I feel called upon to remind you that Buffy has friends, other people than you that care about her." His tone wasn't very pleasant, but Angel ignored the coldness in his voice. Right now he couldn't care less about them being offended by him sending them away.

"Yeah, I know, and I'm glad that she does. When the time comes, it will be helpful. But she won't be able to deal with all of you right away."

Giles looked like he was going to protest for a minute, he held Angel's gaze and the vampire could see a gleam of old, usually concealed anger in his eyes, but then he relented, looked away and shrugged slightly.

"Al right," he said silently. "If this is your standpoint, I suppose I can't convince you otherwise. But I have to remind you that there are other factors here."

"I know. The apocalypse upon us, again. Just… for now, just keep an eye out for Glory. Stay out of her way as far as possible. It's still weeks left until the night, and she doesn't have the final ingredient, meaning we should be safe for now." Angel fell silent and glanced around the group, waiting for any of them to make the next move. He could hear Cordelia mutter something about 'Fanged Dictator much', Giles, true to form, polished his glasses and Willow didn't seem to know on which foot to stand or whose side to take. Angel glanced briefly at Faith and was glad to find support in her look. Out of everybody present here, she was the only one to have a shot at really understanding.

"Sure thing," she said. "We'll stay out of your way and keep tabs on Holier-Than-Skank for a while. Don't be a stranger though, no?"

Faith cast a look into the bedroom and the bed where the still unconscious form of Buffy lay. There was nothing to indicate that anything had changed in the last hour, but she didn't doubt Angel's word. He knew his girl, and he had his freaky vampire senses going for him.

She knew was B was about to go through. She may not have had her soul restored, exactly, but Faith knew everything about facing people she had failed and betrayed. If the entire Scooby gang had been peering over Angel's shoulder in that alley where she finally gave up and begged the vampire for a way out of the black void her existence had turned into, even that happened to mean that he killed her, things would have gone down differently. No way in hell she would have stayed around. She would have kept running until someone or something stopped her in the most permanent of ways.

Angel nodded his thanks. "I'll keep you posted." The gang shuffled towards the door, and Angel turned his back on them, walking into the bedroom and carefully began working on releasing Buffy's thin limbs from the restraints.

* * *

Almost two hours later, Angel put down the book he was trying to read. Her eyelids fluttered – she was coming around. Her small limbs remained slack and unmoving. She had fought the manacles so hard that the iron had dug into her flesh, there were deep marks in her wrists. He moved his chair closer to the bed and took one of her small hands in his own.

A little twinge of sadness surged through him when he felt her cool skin – just like his. In a way she had almost adjusted to being a vampire the last time around, if that was possible. Would she this time? Would she be able to come to terms with everything that happened the last couple of months?

Beginning with the memories of her horrible suffering and death in England, being brought back to life again, only to have him turn on her, kill her and turn her into a monster… and ending with being a ruthless killer herself. _Becoming a vampire was her worst nightmare_, Xander's accusing statement repeated over and over in his head. Of course it was a nightmare for her. She was a Slayer after all. She had spent a big part of her young life fighting and killing vampires, obviously being turned into one herself would be the most horrible way to be killed, a mockery of everything she had stood for as a human. When he was soulless he found the irony poetic.

"Buffy," he said softly. She smiled when she recognized his voice, still with her eyes closed.

"Angel." As soon as she opened her eyes and looked at him, he knew that there was no doubt about her soul. How could he ever. Her presence had always had a deep impact on his own soul, his entire being. When he looked into those soulful, beautiful eyes he felt his soul burn and something stir deep inside his dead heart.

"Hey", he said softly. She smiled at him and he squeezed his hand. They held that position for a few blissfully calm moments. She was back - really back. He felt as if he was basking, his entire being warmed by the light from her soul. To once again have her within his grasp and be looked upon by her loving eyes, it was… powerful.

But it wasn't _perfect_. Luckily. Because he knew painfully well what would come next.

He could se the exact moment when the memories started coming back to her. The smooth features of her face contorted in shock and horror, she flinched and drew in a sharp breath as if someone had plunged a knife into her stomach and twisted it and he could see her beautiful, soulful eyes register shock and fear first, then quickly turning to disgust. She recoiled violently as if she had been burned, yanked her hand away from his, curled up on the bed, shaking and turning her body into herself.

"No… no…" she whimpered over and over, gasping for air she didn't need.

Angel moved quickly from the chair and slid down next to her on the bed, pulling her close. She resisted at first, she tried to pull away, tried to writhe free and clawed at her own face. He held her tightly, stopping her from fleeing or hurting herself. He knew the shock, the horror, the physical manifestations of the pains caused by having one's soul restored. He knew the first impulse, stronger than anything else, was to stop it, to get away, just to END IT in any way possible.

He wasn't sure exactly how much time had passed when she finally relented and stopped fighting him. He felt her iron hard muscles relax and she allowed herself to be held, rather than half pinned to the bed. She clasped one of his arms hard enough to leave bruises even on him and then she buried her head in his chest and cried. She cried so hard and for so long that he was thankful that she didn't require any oxygen.

He knew exactly what she felt and he knew that no words could make it better. All he could do was to be there for her.

They sat like that for hours. Buffy was shaking and crying and Angel held her, silently understanding but otherwise helpless. He knew her agony all too well. The knowledge that there was absolutely nothing he could do for her to ease her pain devastated him. Confused and painful but still perfectly clear memories from over a hundred years ago, when he was first re-ensouled, resurfaced.

After Darla chased him off, he had drifted. Roaming the Rumanian woods, sleeping – rather falling into a restless state of unconsciousness from time to time when he had tired out his battered and malnourished body to the extent of not being able to fight sleep despite the horrors that haunted him as soon as he closed his eyes – in caves and abandoned barns, hiding from humanity and running from himself for the first few days, weeks, months – even though his memories were clear on most parts, he wasn't sure exactly how long it had been before he had regained any measure of his mind and begun tracking Darla, Spike and Drusilla, finally meeting up with them in China about two years after he was cursed.

To this day he still wasn't sure what had stopped him from simply end his own existence. It would have been so easy to just meet the sunrise one day instead of seeking shelter. Some would call it strength; some would say it was cowardice, in fact that was just what Darla had called it. He wasn't sure where he stood himself. It would be a bitter lie to say that it was the desire to make amends and atone that kept him going. No, at the time, it would be many, many years before he ever considered any kind of redemption.

'_She has you'_, Wesley had said, meaning to comfort and reassure. Angel wasn't so sure that it was very reassuring. He wasn't exactly an example to lead by. When he sought out Darla it was in hope that she would either end his life for him or take him back, thinking that if he could only be by her side things could once again be what they had been before. That _he_ could be what he had been before, the only thing he knew how to be. And even after he had begun trying to atone, he had fallen so many times. Failed, or given up, or reverted to his former evil. None of which he wanted for Buffy.

He stroke her hair gently, saying nothing. There was no place for words, not yet. She had finally stilled completely in his arms. He wasn't sure if she had tired herself out and gone to sleep; since she wasn't breathing it was impossible to tell. But he doubted it. He doubted that she would be so still and calm once the dark veil of sleep finally descended over her.

He looked towards the window, an unnecessary reflex, he already knew that the sun had almost set by now, he could feel the strain of the daylight lessening its hold on him, even indoors he could practically smell the clearer, colder night air. As always, he was drawn to it. And as usual, he ignored those instincts.

Sundown meant that Anya could rise at any time if she had been turned. Angel had a bad feeling that she had been – but he needed to ask her to be sure. Ha hated the mere thought of having to utter the question. It was the last thing she needed right now.

But Anya wouldn't be an ordinary fledgling vampire, she already had over a millennia's experience of evil. Of course, a vengeance demon was different from a vampire, but doubtlessly it wouldn't take her long to learn to combine her physical strength with the experience of evil that she already had and turn into a very dangerous, creative killer.

"Buffy," he said softly and she flinched at the sudden sound. "There is one thing I have to ask you. I know how you feel right now, but…"

"I turned Anya," she replied, her voice weak and coarse after hours of crying.

"I'll let them know," he whispered as he caressed her face and pulled a wisp of stray hair back behind her ear. He didn't reassure her more than that, because he knew she wouldn't want him to. He didn't say "it's okay" because it would be a hollow lie and offer her no consolation – none of this was okay, and he didn't tell her that it wasn't her fault, because he knew she wouldn't see it that way – not now, probably not ever. She still had the demon that was capable of those things inside of her and knowing that, how could she ever be convinced that the guilt wasn't hers to bear?

As far as Angel was concerned, none of this was Buffy's fault. She was the victim here – his victim. It was his actions that had turned her into what she was – her own deeds merely an unavoidable consequence of that. It was strange how the same thing could have been said about him once upon a time, and yet he would never deny responsibility for any of his own crimes. And unfortunately, neither would Buffy, he was sure of that.

It wasn't up to him to tell the others what to do with Anya. She would rise as a vampire, and she wouldn't be different from any other soulless monster, but right now, who was _he_ to tell them that the best thing to do would be to put a stake through her heart before that had a chance to happen?

First thing's first – before the sun set he would have to inform them what would happen so that they could restrain her properly.


	61. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE

* * *

**CHAPTER 61: WHAT HAVE YOU DONE**

* * *

When the sun rose in the sky again, nothing much had changed.

The night before Angel had left the room briefly to call Giles – he didn't want her to hear the conversation. When he came back she lay in the exact same position as he had left her, on the side, crawling up in a fetal position. Her eyes were wide, staring and unseeing, her chest unmoving. She might as well be just a dead body. Except for the hands. Her arms lay slack and useless splayed out in front of her, but her hands trembled. If one looked close, one might be able to discern that her distant eyes were directed at those hands. He had looked down briefly at his own hands and known what she was thinking. A killer's hands.

Dead bodies now, they had it easy, he thought as he got back on the bed and pulled Buffy closer. It was over for them. No more living, no more suffering. Even though he couldn't stand the thought he asked himself, again, whether this was the right choice. He had damned her, just like Darla had him once upon a time, and now he had condemned her to live out her existence in infinite agony as well. The destruction done to this woman who wasn't much more than a girl was complete. He had done all the damage he possibly could to her, despite all his efforts to keep her safe. Despite the fact that the reason he had sought her in the first place was to help her – protect her. The irony wasn't lost him, and it definitely wasn't lost on his demon.

His fingers gently brushed her cheek, but she didn't respond to his touch. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was, but he wouldn't. Sorry didn't help, not at all. And apologizing to her would be the same thing as asking for her forgiveness – close enough anyway, and that he would never do. He didn't deserve it.

Once in a while, when he was being irrational and childishly stupid, which was especially ridiculous considering his age, he wanted to blame someone else. Had Whistler known? Was he really a good guy like he said or did he retreat chuckling in his stupid hat and his ugly green shirt, complacent that he had managed to steer a monster like him directly in the path of the young and innocent new Slayer? Was he sent by the powers really, or was he the lackey of something considerably darker, something that knew that Buffy would develop into such a formidable Slayer, something that had sealed her fate in more than one way the very instant she was called by sending him out to seek her?

And what about those powers, anyway. Over the course of the last couple of years, he had been in contact with them one way or another on many occasions. Doyle and Cordelia's visions, the oracles, scrolls with ancient prophecies… Ancient prophecies that did find the time to tell him that he would supposedly get to become human once more one day – as a reward no less – but not did they mention a word about anything that had happened this last year.

He blamed Toth, which was a good object for his blame, really, a dead demon. If only he had never encountered him, they would have gone on with the avoidance thing, and Buffy would still be warm and alive and she would still have a home with a mother and a sister and – he swallowed, a normal boyfriend that wouldn't do her any harm.

He had hated Riley, he really had. As soon as he laid eyes on the puny boy that thought himself a man he had hated him and wanted to tear him apart – the more literally the better. He couldn't even blame it just on the territorial part of his demon because, as big a part as it may be, it wouldn't be the whole truth. The man side of him despised Riley, and probably anyone else that got to be with her, just as much.

But that wasn't the point. Riley had been harmless and caring and despite having to know that he didn't stand a chance against him, had done everything in his power to keep Buffy safe when he thought that he was evil. Not that Buffy needed safe keeping. He sighed. Not that Buffy needed safe keeping from many things, he corrected himself, with HIM being one of the exceptions. The Farmboy had been more right than he had known. Riley had been exactly the kind of boyfriend Angel had idiotically told himself that he wanted for Buffy. And that was why he was now rotting six feet below.

Was it foretold, the events of this last year, or just simply bad luck? The vision Cordelia had about the Bucah, was it really about that particular demon or was Toth the real danger? Because that would make sense in a way. The events surrounding Toth made him lose his soul which led to… all of this. Cordelia's visions was really helpful when they were that vague and obscure.

Angel looked towards the window and the blistering sunshine that was safely kept out by the heavy dark curtains. Buffy hadn't said a word in hours and neither had he. In truth he didn't know what to say. No meaningless platitudes would make her feel better. So he kept his mouth shut. He held one of her small hands in his larger. The burn marks from the oil were still clearly visible, as was the dents from the chains. She didn't heal with proper speed, and she wouldn't until she got some new blood in her system. She _needed_ blood, but he knew that it would be the last thing she wanted right now.

When he first had his soul returned, he had starved himself. He couldn't remember for how long he had gone on without nourishment. After he attacked, attempted and failed to drink that woman in the Rumanian town he had fled, disgusted and horrified with himself. He could remember it clearly. He had been equally disgusted by the fact that he _had_ attacked her and that he _hadn't_ been able to though with it. It was all he knew after all. The shame of feeding from a living human and the shame of not being able to do it were almost equal. It was strange, yet not. After a hundred and fifty years of feeding and killing it came natural to him. He had lost everything that made him who he was.

So after that incident he had starved for a long time, unable and unwilling to get close to humans – not trusting himself. At the time he didn't even consider drinking animals, that came much later, when the starvation on top of everything else had driven him to the edge of insanity.

He couldn't let Buffy do that to herself. Carefully moving away from her and unnecessarily putting a blanket over her he moved into the kitchen and heated a glass of blood, taking it back to the bedroom. She didn't look up but he could tell from the look on her face that she already knew what he had brought. She demonstratively turned so she laid with her back towards him.

"Buffy, you have to eat something," he told her. He consciously avoided the term 'feed' as he knew what associations it would bring. "The longer you go without, the more it will hurt."

"It _should_ hurt. I _deserve_ to hurt," she replied tonelessly, her voice a little muffled as her face was half buried in the pillow. He knew there was no point in arguing with her, not yet.

"Buffy, this isn't the way to inflict pain on yourself. It will only make things worse." He hoped that she understood exactly what 'worse' entailed without having to spell it out for her. Not only would she heal slowly, but as the demon hungered her dreams – waking dreams and dreams while she slept alike, would become more violent and horrifying. The smallest trace of blood would draw her attention and she would be unable to focus on anything else. The lust for blood would soon overcome everything else.

He was pretty sure that she knew. But she didn't answer. He put the glass down and sat down on the bed, pulling her into his arms and turning her around so that she faced him again. She didn't resist it, but she didn't respond either. Angel considered it for a moment, then opened a vein on his own wrist and held it to her mouth. At first he thought she was going to refuse that as well, but finally she started drinking.

When she was finished she rested her head against his chest and cried herself to sleep, self-disgust for what she was and grief for what she no longer was welling up again. Her small, thin body shook and trembled with every painful sob. She wept until she had exhausted herself and drifted into a restless sleep. Angel could already see the burn marks fading and disappearing. At least she was going to be alright physically. Too bad her physical health wasn't the main concern here.

His phone rang. Well, it didn't ring, exactly – he had managed to switch it to vibrate, of which he was glad right now. Buffy didn't stir. He gently slipped out from under her, covered her with the blanket again, gave her one last concerned look and moved silently out of the room to answer.

* * *

She could hear them screaming. Some were words, pleads of mercy, some where just terrified screams of horror and agony, crying and sobbing and wailing and silent, anguished whimpering. She heard the sound of bones breaking, joints dislocating with sickening pops – like knuckles popping, only louder. Necks snapping, the crunching and tearing of tissue, skin and muscle... She couldn't do anything to push it out of her mind.

_What have you done?_ The accusing voice in her mind wasn't more than a whisper but it was persistent, repeating over and over and over, giving her no quiet, no peace of mind.

As soon as Angel had left the room she had woken up. She couldn't fall asleep again, she really couldn't but even if, she wouldn't dare to. She wanted to call out for him, she knew that he would come back if she did, but then she heard him talking on the phone… with Giles. Giles. She didn't want Giles to hear her, to know that she was weak and useless. And she didn't want to interrupt whatever they were saying. She clapped her hands over her ears to drown out the all too clear sound of Angel's voice but the little she had heard with crystal clarity had already engraved itself on her mind. _'What do you mean, insane? No Giles, I can't ask her, not right now, and not yet. Why?'_ Pause. _'Because she is barely holding on as it is.'_

Holding on, was that what he thought, or was that the censored, Giles-approved version of it? Probably. He would know.

As soon as she closed her eyes, she saw them, everything she had done to them. She saw Janice's horrified face when she realized who was chasing her; she saw Parker's death mask, frozen in terror and agony when she had tortured him to death. She saw Xander, and Anya and the countless men she had turned for sport. She saw the infant whose throat she had ripped out while the mother remained alive to watch.

She could smell them, all over her and inside her. Their blood, the stench of their deaths. So much blood. Dripping, streaming, gushing, seeping, pouring, spurting. The smell of a newly opened, steaming hot vein and the sharper scent of old, stale blood. When she moved her hands they felt sticky with blood, but when she looked down on them, they were dry. All the events, the murders, were constantly replaying over and over in her head and she couldn't stop the horrible images.

_What have you done?... _

_...What have you done?_

How could she do so much damage in so short time? So many people, all dead, because of her. So many horrible deaths, so many families in agony because their loved ones were either dead or missing and would never return home or be found at all. She had fought vampires for many years, she knew what they were capable of, but knowing and actually doing were two very different things.

Angel's words from so long ago kept ringing in her ears. _"You have no idea what it's like to have done the things I have done – and to care." _At that time, she hadn't been able to comprehend the full meaning of those words. Well, she knew now. God how she knew now.

"_I'm sorry. I can't be in your club. I've never murdered anybody."_

Her own spiteful, whiny words from last year popped into her mind. She had been so stupid. So selfish and childish and unfair and stupid. She must have used up a lifetime's supply of bigoted-bitchy-stupidness. Blah, blah, Buffy and her hurty feeling, blah-blah.

"_I have someone in my life now…"_

Yes, Faith had done some horrible things to her, but when she said those things to Angel that night, it hadn't been to hurt Faith, it had been to hurt _him_. When she saw them, her in his arms and him comforting her, helping her, caring for her despite what she had done, she had been deeply cut and offended. She wanted him, _needed_ him to hurt just as badly.

"_You know what makes it new?"_

Mustering up everything she possibly could to make him suffer she had thrown his past and her present, the one with a boyfriend she _loved_ and _trusted_ and _knew_ in his face. Why? Just to hurt him. Just to see the same look on his face she was sure to have sported herself when she walked down those steps to his apartment. How righteous. Maybe there wasn't such a big difference between her as a human and as a soulless demon, after all. Words can hurt as much as a fist, and if she chose to use her powers, physical or otherwise, to hurt the people that loved her, what was the reason for that soul anyway?

But then, she had really gotten what was coming to her now, hadn't she?

She looked at the window. Behind the heavy black curtain, the sun shone ever so bright. It would be so easy to just… it wouldn't take much. She could just push the curtain to the side… It would be over before Angel had time to react. It would all be finally and completely over. Done, once and for all. She wondered which hell demons with souls ended up in. Would it be anything like the hell she had sent Angel to for hundreds of years? She didn't know much about it. He had never talked about it and she had never asked.

No, she couldn't do that either. She deserved this. No matter how much she hurt, how much she suffered, it wouldn't ever be enough. This was justice.

_What have you done?_

…_what have you done?..._

…_what have you done? _

The time she had been soulless compared to Angel was minimal. He had slaughtered people for 150 years when he first got his soul back. Thousands upon thousands of lives and she knew that he, too, remembered every single face, every single scream and every single drop of blood spilt. How had he made it this far? How had he made it at all? He hadn't had anyone to guard him, keep him from ending it. How naive she had been. She had known all about it, but she had never understood it, not at all.

How Xander always had made fun of Angel's brooding style seemed ridiculous now. That Angel had made it through this with any shred of sanity intact at all was admirable. At the moment, she wasn't at all sure that she would do as well.

Xander. Tears welled up in her eyes again. Was he alive? Angel hadn't said. He had been weak… She remembered his pleading for her to stop when she cut him, toyed with him. His scream in agony as she gauged out his eye. The fear in his eyes – or, well, eye – when he tried to get her to tell where Anya was. As long as he was coherent enough, he had mostly asked about her. He really loved her. She had killed her just because he did.

_What have you done? _

_...What have you done?..._

_...What have you done?..._

_...What have you done?..._

_..WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?_ The voice grew stronger, louder, echoing, driving her out of her mind.

She started rocking herself back and forth, not being able to stop the screaming in her head. She clapped her hands over her ears again to shut it out but it didn't make a difference. She scratched at her face, her deceitful human face that was only a cloak now, a cloak that covered what she truly was. She smelled blood and looked down at her blood stained fingers. She clawed at the place where her still heart was and wondered how someone with a dead heart could feel this much pain.

_"Heart? You have a heart? It isn't even beating."_

She smelled Xander's blood, on her, inside her. She lifted her arms and looked at them. His blood seemed to itch from the inside as if it corroded her veins like acid. Not just his.

So many innocent people's blood flowed in her veins. That baby and its mother. That couple in the alley in LA. The girl from the Bronze. Anya's blood. So many others… Even though she didn't have a body temperature, the blood seemed to boil and burn from the inside.

All that blood. So much blood, all over her, inside her. Poisoning her, making her sick. Even though she didn't have a body temperature and even though she knew on some rational level that the blood from her victims in her veins was cold by now, it made her feel like she had a fever, like their deaths burned her up from the inside out. She had to make it stop. She had to get it out…

She had to make it stop.

* * *

When Angel pushed the 'end call' button he, like many times before, felt like smacking the phone against the floor. Things weren't good and this last piece of news hadn't made it any better. Giles had told him that hey had taken Anya to the Magic Box and held her in the training area after they last spoke. She had risen and while that part was expected, it wasn't the problem. Giles had told him that Anya seemed – _'well, quite mad'_. Confused and barely lucid she hadn't made a single effort to get out of her restraints or taken any notice of anyone else in the room – though of course, they didn't dare getting too close. Once she had switched into gameface and began snarling and thrashing, but the violence didn't seem directed at anyone in particular. She had then began scratching herself with her fangs and banged her head against the wall. She wasn't making any sense.

At the chilling familiarity of this Angel hadn't been able to avoid thinking of Drusilla and of course neither had Giles which instantly turned the conversation somewhat icy. Drusilla led to three years ago led to mind games and torture and from there on it was all bad. Giles had proceeded to tell Angel he needed to ask Buffy what had happened to Anya, and he had said no. It had taken ten minutes to convince the Watcher of why he couldn't ask her yet. It had taken ten minutes the nice way, that was. He had made a real effort not to lose his temper and walked as far away as possible in the large mansion to make sure he didn't wake up Buffy. It wasn't like he could go outside and talk, the sun made sure of that.

As soon as he stepped back into the main room the alarming smell of fresh blood hit him. With a stab of worry he crossed the large room in just a few steps and found the bed room door closed, locked – and blocked.

"Buffy, let me in," he demanded, pounding on the door. The smell of blood was stronger now. Something had happened and he didn't dare thinking what it might be. "Don't do this," he almost pleaded. When there was no response he rammed his shoulder against the door. It creaked in protest. He gave it another push and it gave a little and on the third push he finally burst through it. He shoved aside the heavy closet she had put in front of the door.

She was standing next to the bed, looking at him with empty eyes as he entered, tears streaming down her face and mixing with blood from deep, ugly scratches on her cheeks. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her.

She looked like a marble statue where she stood in front of the window, she was so pale, so very pale that the vague light from behind the curtain made her look virtually white as a sheet. Bloodied tears were streaming slowly down her cheeks and the horror and agony in her eyes was tangible.

Since her other clothes had been bloody and dirty before she was now only wearing a t-shirt that was much too large for her over her underwear and she was standing barefoot in a pool of blood, holding a knife in her right hand. It didn't take long for him to see what she had done.

She had cut her wrists to the bone.

"I had to stop it, Angel. I had to get it out, all the blood. I can feel it burning inside of me. I can hear them screaming… I needed to get them out of me." Her voice was distant, absent. She reminded Angel eerily of Drusilla.

The sight of her shocked him. He couldn't think straight. He knew the wounds wouldn't kill her, but then it wasn't her physical health he worried about.

After grabbing bandages and clean rags and water he carried her out of the blood filled room and lay her down on the couch in the main room. She was so thin, so light, her lean body was almost drained of blood. He would have to force her to feed – a lot – if she didn't do it on her own. Carefully he cleaned her wounds and wrapped her fragile wrists in many layers of bandages.

"Buffy, promise me you won't ever do anything like that again," he said, looking seriously into her tear filled eyes.

"It doesn't matter. I'll never die, but all those people did. They died… because I killed them." Her voice was still absent, her face indifferent, emotionless. He knew just what he felt, and he also knew that punishing herself like this wouldn't make her feel better. He dabbed her scratched face gently with the rag and saw that she was bleeding from deep cuts in her chest as well. He swallowed and realized what he had interrupted when he burst into the room. She had tried to cut out her own heart.

"You didn't kill them, Buffy," he whispered as he wasn't sure his voice would hold if he attempted to walk any louder. "Your soul is good and pure; it's not capable of doing those things. It was a demon living inside you that killed those people," he went on, hoping that she would believe it more than he believed it about himself. But he, more than anybody else, knew that it wasn't that easy. The demon wasn't locked away due to the presence of a soul, it was always there. The instincts and impulses of the demon were always there and had to be fought all the time, every day. And she knew it, too. The evil that did all those things was still very much inside her.

"I did. I know I did," she said silently. She held up her bloodstained hands, studying them. They trembled slightly. "I remember all of it. What I did… how I felt. I know what I did."

"You'll get through this. I know you Buffy, you're stronger than your demon."

"I'm not strong, Angel." Her voice was small and fragile. "I have always borrowed strength from everybody, from mom, Giles… Willow and Xander… from you. I don't want strong anymore. I should have stayed dead. I should be dust in a sewer in London." She looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. "I don't want to have to be strong anymore," she whispered painfully.

Angel pulled her into his lap and held her tightly. At first she was tense, as if she didn't even want to let herself rest, but finally she relaxed in his arms. She sobbed quietly.

"Shhh. Rest now. It's alright. Everything is alright," he soothed her, despite knowing that it was a lie. If it could console her enough to give her weak body a few hours of needed rest it didn't matter. "You _are_ strong, Buffy, even if you don't believe it now," he whispered. "And you'll get through this… you have to."


	62. STRONG IS FIGHTHING

* * *

**CHAPTER 62: STRONG IS FIGHTING**

* * *

When Buffy slept, she dreamt of killing. Not any kind of killing. She dreamt of hunting, of catching, of heartbeats ever so loud and rhythmic and the near sensual pleasure she got from silencing them forever. She enjoyed what she did in the dreams and she hated herself for it when she woke up. She dreamt of tearing Willow limb from limb with her bear hands and was soon nearly ready to carve out her own eyes to get rid of those horrible images that haunted her whether she was awake or slept, but Angel had removed all knives and daggers and locked them away, and he always kept an eye on her, should she try to hurt herself again using something else. He didn't get much rest himself and when Buffy saw dark circles forming under his eyes and that his complexion seemed even paler than usual, she felt bad. Even now, she was so selfish; she hurt him by having to be guarded like a child.

She dreamt of drowning in a river of her victim's blood. She woke up screaming in terror and Angel had to physically stop her from running mindlessly into the sunlit garden to throw herself in the small fountain that was there. After that she showered for an hour and scrubbed herself till she bled. When she realized that the smell and sight of her own blood made her hungry she broke down crying again. Angel found her curled up in the shower, still with the water running, soaking wet and shaking. He wrapped her in a bathrobe that was much too large for her and carried her to bed. He hadn't let her near the bedroom until he had cleaned it, and how clean it was. The sheets were changed and the curtains were new to remove any fabric that might have bloodstains on it. The floors were scrubbed and the sharp smell of disinfectant hit Buffy's enhanced senses as soon as she entered the room, but after a minute she got used to it. It was better than the smell of blood.

He had to remind her to feed. She never did willingly and not nearly as much as he thought she should. She always drank it cold. He knew that warm blood reminded her too much of the real thing right now. It wasn't much better for him, but he had been through it many times and gotten used to feeling this way, as much as one ever could. Plus, worrying about her around the clock left him very little time to do or even think about anything else, himself and his own problems included, which was a good thing in this case.

She was hesitant to drink in front of him. He could understand that, given that had never been comfortable feeding around anyone himself, but still first he thought it was strange that she would be shy in front of _him_, considering what they had done together. Then he realized that what they had shared in their recent past was probably only making things worse. They had killed together. So many lives snuffed out for fun, for sport, for pleasure. Nothing would ever erase those memories.

She wondered what he thought of her, if he saw her in new light now, having seen her do all those horrible things. He wondered how it was that she didn't seem to hate him, despite the fact that it was his fault that she had been turned into a thing that was capable of such things. They didn't talk about it. It was too early.

When they were out of blood Buffy went with him to the butcher's shop, she sat quietly through the short car ride and waited in the car, staring absently out the window when he went into the shop. Tired and thus prone to despair and hopelessness Angel wondered if things would ever get any better.

He didn't say anything about her friends, not a word about going to see them. He wanted it to come from her, didn't want to force her into it. But as it was, Buffy usually left the room pointedly, if he didn't go first, whenever the phone buzzed. It was usually Giles calling and she didn't want to hear his voice on the other end and she didn't want to risk Angel suggesting that she should talk to him, even though she was sure he would never try to force her.

They didn't leave the house much. Buffy hadn't said a lot about it, but she had divulged to him enough about Glory that he understood that the goddess would probably like both of their heads now. He didn't want to risk Buffy encountering her in this state but he was pretty sure that she wouldn't come looking for them. They weren't enough of a threat for her to bother. Which was a cold comfort considering the battles that might lie ahead.

One evening she sat curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her and her hands around a steaming cup of tea. The tea, she remembered having brought herself over two years ago and it hadn't been moved from the lonely cupboard she had placed it in then. She had never been a big tea-person, to Giles' dismay, but the mansion didn't have a coffee maker. She drank it very hot with lots of sugar. It was the only way it would have any hint of taste. She wondered if vampires would get cavities, but figured probably no.

The cup heated her hands to the point where it almost hurt, but she liked the sensation. A fire was crackling and burning in the fireplace and made the large room comfortably warm. She felt hot. Well, she felt hotter than what was usual these days. Almost alive-hot. That inevitably led her to thinking about all those that weren't and never would be again. Those that were rotting in the ground or would never be found again by anyone other than maggots and pecking birds – because of her.

She thought of Anya, of whom she had robbed both life and sanity. And _Xander_. Things would never be what they had anymore. How would Giles or Willow or Xander ever be able to look at her again without seeing all the horrible things she had done or how disgusting she was? All the things she had said to them. She wondered what Giles thought of her now. Over and over she had failed – failed him, failed those she had called friends, failed her family and the world… This last year she had been measured, and she had been found wanting. She hadn't been as strong as they thought, as strong as she needed to be. And now she paid the price.

Angel sat near the fireplace. He had long since lost interest in the book he was trying to read and it lay discarded in his lap. He sat silently and watched her and even now she could see the concern and love in his eyes. It made her feel – unworthy. Like a creature such as her would never deserve to be loved by anyone. And so, probably for the first time she realized how he must always have felt with her.

She put her cup away on the table and moved a little to make more room on the couch, hoping that he would take the hint – and he did, getting up and moving over to her. Their connection had always been strong and it was even more so now. She tried to tell herself it was because they had shared so much together over the course of this last year, but she knew painfully well that it was more than that. She was bound to him by blood. He was her sire. She had never loved anyone as she had loved him, but not even that would ever make her comfortable with this. She knew that he must feel the connection just as strong as she did and it would hurt him even more than it hurt her.

He slid down on the couch next to her and she crawled out of her blanket and snuggled up to him. The reaction to her now unusual warmth was instant and powerful. He almost recoiled when memories came rushing over him but stopped himself, knowing how she would take it. The emotions that stirred in him were soon pushed down when he realized that while her warmth might be a powerful reminder of the past, it was the only thing that was what it had been. The body that rested in his arms was not breathing. The heart in her chest didn't beat anymore. And yet somehow, she still seemed perfect to him.

"I wish we could go away," she murmured into his chest.

"Away?" he repeated.

"Mm. Just away from apocalypses and, you know…" she trailed off. He swallowed. Yes, he knew. Away from _them_. Disappearing would be easier than facing them. He knew the feeling. And had it not been for said apocalypse he would probably have considered it. It might even do her good to get away from it all for a little while. But then, he feared that it might now be '_going_ away' as much as '_running_ away' and he wasn't sure she would come back from that. And he couldn't let her give up her friends just because she was afraid. He knew by own experience that hiding from the world never ended well.

"It doesn't help in the long run," he said, his voice thick. "You think so at first, but… you can't run forever."

Operative word here? Forever. Really. Forever, and ever, and ever, and…

"Then what do you do?" Buffy asked. "If you can't run and you can't deal."

"I don't know," Angel said softly. "You… endure. One day at a time. Sometimes, one minute at a time."

"And that's it? You just keep – enduring, and one day, things will be better?"

How was he to answer that? He couldn't lie to her. She wouldn't want him to, and he didn't think it would help her. "It… yes. Well. The guilt will be a part of you forever. The pain… it fades. Somewhat. Over time. You learn to live with it. And eventually you learn to function despite it. You see that there are things in this world that aren't what they should be and that needs to be fought. So you use whatever power you have do to that."

Buffy bit her lip. She wanted to ask him about – the thing inside. Would that part ever get easier? It felt weird to think of it as 'the demon', as if it was some separate entity that had possessed her. It was part of who she was now. The question repeated over and over on a loop in her head but she never actually uttered the words. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer.

"What if you feel like you can't make it even minute by minute?" Buffy whispered, almost hiding her face in the fabric of his shirt, glad their current position meant she didn't have to look him in the eye.

"You draw strength from whatever you can to keep going," he said. "However little it may seem, if it keeps you going through the next minute. One of the things that kept me going… in Hell…" he paused and she was afraid that he had changed his mind and didn't want to share this with her. The suspense made her draw in a sharp breath and hold it, a strange thing for a vampire to do perhaps, but it was a reflex more than anything else. Then he seemed to have made up his mind and went on, carefully choosing his words. "It was… knowing that I least I hadn't killed you. Despite all the other horrible things I did, at least you were alright. But now…"

"Then you know how I felt that summer," Buffy said, no, she whispered – she didn't even know why, maybe because Angel rarely talked about these intimate things with her and she didn't want him to shy away from the topic. "Because I killed you too."

"Not really," he said simply and opted for not diving further into those particular memories.

"It felt real enough," Buffy persisted.

In Angel's mind the comparison was absurd. She had sacrificed him because she had to, to save the world. She slew the monster – he sadistically murdered the heroine for his sick pleasure. It was wrong to even attempt to match up the two. But he didn't argue with her because he knew that wasn't how she saw it. She never had. _If_ she had, she probably wouldn't be dead by his hand now.

"So, see," Buffy said slowly. "We all have our crosses to bear." She grimaced at that. Death really didn't become her punning, that was for sure. "But we… we'll bear them together, right?"

"Yeah," Angel answered after a moment, hoping that he wasn't giving her another empty promise that he wouldn't be able to keep. "We will."

* * *

"It's been over a week." Cordelia looked around the shop, glancing carefully at every single one of them, hoping for a reaction of some kind. Not much was said on the subject of Buffy. Mostly, she suspected, because the only contact that had been made over the course of the last week had been Giles calling Mr. Gruffyvamp a few times and apparently he wasn't in share mode.

Cordelia felt abandoned and betrayed. The pounding headache that still tormented her after a vision she had last night might well have something to do with that. She didn't want these vision thingies. She didn't want to face a battle with the hellgod-bitch of all times. She didn't want to be in this place; she had left Sunnydale for good reason and had no desire to stick around. She didn't want to _not_ have a home to go back to because someone had it practically burnt to the ground.

And it all came down to the same thing, or person, or vampire; Angel. Her skull was being hollowed out by mind splitting migraines for him. It was his fault that she had been dragged back here and it was his little hussy-creation that had ruined her home. And Angel, he wasn't here. He was back in his musty mansion all alone with Buffy, doing God knew what and not including any of them in it.

Without either Buffy or Angel the rest of them didn't really know what to do. Angel had told them to avoid Glory which seemed sensible considering the only supernatural fighters they had in the group now was a Slayer still on the mend and a moody, not to mention soulless vampire that wasn't predictable enough to count on. It would be a stretch to even think of him as 'one of the group'. Spike came and went as was to his own liking and Cordelia didn't trust him.

While he may have aided them, somewhat, through their _New Adventures of Angelus_ Cordelia was acutely aware that the chip in his head was the only tangible thing that separated this Spike from the Spike that had tortured Angel almost to death; well, more to death for that stupid ring, almost killed Buffy on several occasions, helped Drusilla re-assemble blue-people-burning-arm-in-box-guy and arranged a massacre at Parent Teached night. Nope, soulless vampire stayed firmly in the not-to-trust category as far as she was concerned. But then, she thought of Angel, and came to the conclusion that sometimes, and over this last year a lot too often for comfort, souled vampire belonged in that category as well.

They were coming back here every day mostly because they didn't know what else to do. And because Giles was stubbornly trying to run his business despite everything else that was going on. Also, sitting around Downtowner Apts. all day, smelling the smells of stale bodily fluids and the lemony floor polish that made a poor job of removing them, playing peek-a-boo with the cockroach version of the Manson Family and feeling your lungs being eaten away by mold spores mobilizing their armies inside the walls – that just wasn't an option. As far as living accomodations went, it was about as low as Cordelia had seen, even lower than her first apartment in LA. But after the threat of Buffy had been removed there had been no reason for her to stay in Willow's cramped little dorm room.

The vision? It had been nothing. Just the regular vamp-gang in chow-down-mode. Gunn and Faith had taken care of it. But that wasn't the point.

They were all gathered. Giles, Wesley, Gunn, Willow and Faith. Spike had been coming almost every day, blaming the fact that he had to walk past the Magic Box to get from his crypt to wherever he was going, _'so it bloody well didn't mean that he had any interested in what their lot were doing'_. They weren't sure they believed that, but it didn't matter. Spike kept an eye on Anya whenever she came. He seemed strangely comfortable in her presence, which might not be as illogical as it may seem at first, considering the fact that he had spent all his time around Drusilla for over a hundred years.

"It has, yes," Giles agreed, his expression somber as he went about pouring tea into china cups for him and Wesley. The others already had their fresh doze of caffeinated beverages in front of them, courtesy of the Espresso Pump.

"I know she's all tortured and suffering and everything, but there is an apocalypse coming up, you know," Cordelia went on, wincing at the clinking of metal against porcelain when Wesley stirred his cup, hoping that her pain medication would kick in soon. "Plus, Xander will be released today."

"Hmm," was all the Watcher said to her great dismay. Whose head was pounding here exactly? She didn't need an irritation-headache on top of everything else right now.

"Don't 'hmm' me! What should we do?"

"Pick him up?" Willow cut in. Cordelia shot her a glare.

"And what do we say to him about his vamped and not to mention completely insane girlfriend? We're still on a need to know basis here."

"What's happened, that's pretty much a given," Spike commented, emerging from the training room.

"Well, I understand the exchange of bodily fluids part, but why is she being all psycho case? I know Angel did it to Drusilla, but that took time, didn't it? Buffy had Anya for a day."

"There is a spell I could use," Willow spoke. "I could go into her subconscious to see what's happened, if it's a spell or if something is missing, or…"

"No," Giles interrupted harshly and ignored Willow's hurt look. "It's too dangerous. If such potent spells are to be used at all, it should be as a very last resort."

"And Buffy has to have the answer, right?" Cordelia said. "So we should, oh say, ask?" Giles shrugged and looked away. It wasn't as if he hadn't already had that discussion with Angel.

"Cordelia is right," Wesley agreed. "We would really need to know what happened to her. I mean, it's not just that she seems, well, insane; she doesn't even give the impression that she recognizes any one of us. It's like she's had severe trauma of some kind, but if so, it shouldn't have passed with her as she was turned. We have to be looking for something mystical here."

"Yeah," Cordelia muttered. "Because the way she acts it's like someone's put a tap in her head and let her brains just dribble out or something."

"Wait a minute," Faith said. She looked at Spike. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" He smirked mischievously.

"Highly doubtful, luv." She just shook her head, not in the mood for quips.

"That god chick – Glorificus. She said something to Spike before she tossed him off the cliff. She said something about that vampires were worthless because they couldn't even be… 'brain sucked' or something. Do you remember?" Spike frowned, then nodded simply.

"Wow, everything is just falling to place now," Cordelia said after a moment's silence, nodding. "It's just not in a place close to here."

"Don't you get it? If she met Anya, what if she suckled her brain?"

"Is that the literal kind of brain sucked?" Cordelia wondered, wishing for the disturbing images in her head to go away. As if she wasn't feeling sick enough as it was. "'Cause… yuck."

"It's quite possible that's what happened," Giles agreed. "However, it would really be best if we could ask, uh…"

"It really would," Cordelia said. "I mean, whatever happened to 'the weight of the world is on her shoulders' or whatnot? I get that Buffy is a weeping creep right now, but we need them here. How long can it take to recover from a murdering rampage, anyway."

Faith glanced at Spike, considering whether to ask the thing she had been curious about for a long time. She decided that the worst that could happen was that he would crack a joke and vamoose, which was his reaction to pretty much everything serious. He was like the world's oldest teenager. But she knew the behavior – it was a kind of defense mechanism she was very familiar with.

"Spike, you were there when Angel got his soul back for the first time, right?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. Sure."

"So how long did it take him? Before he was… you know, okay again." Somehow, Faith had a hard time imagining Angel broken. She knew that he was constantly haunted by guilt, but she couldn't se him sniffling in the dirt and hiding from the world. Of course she knew that it had happened – but that was all more than a hundred years ago. Over 80 years before she was born, simply too long ago to be tangible.

"Bloody bugger's never been okay if you ask me," he sniffed. "But yeah… reckon it took couple of years after the business in Romania before I saw him again." He was quiet for a moment, reminiscing. "'Twas in China, the Boxer Rebellion where I plucked off my first Slayer, on which he congratulated me, by the way," he grinned, seeming content that he had managed to recover from being almost helpful.

"So, _years_," Cordelia said, pondering that for a second, massaging her temples and feeling very tired. "Not exactly in our favor then."

* * *

Angel flinched when his cell phone began vibrating and buzzing again. He was sick of the thing and shot it an evil glare where it bobbed around on the bureau where he had mindlessly left it out of reach when he curled up on the bed with Buffy. He wished for a moment that it would vibrate off of the bureau and fall to its timely death by collision with stone floor – but for a thing made of plastic and metal it seemed to have a remarkable survival instinct and stayed just on the edge. Which, on second thought, was probably a good thing. If the eager callers didn't get an answer they might very well show up at his front door shortly.

Buffy was fast asleep and he hated having to wake her up. Her hours of peaceful rest were few and far between. But he didn't want to sneak away either. The last time he had done so without waking her first, he had found her a few minutes later, crying and screaming in her sleep. He nudged her gently and stroke her cheek to wake her.

"Mmm. What time is it?" Buffy murmured, blinking sleep from her eyes.

"Almost noon." He got up and went over to the still dancing annoyance.

"Ummph. Isn't that the vampire equivalent of midnight? People today have no decency," she muttered, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Angel couldn't help but smile at that. Their talk last night seemed to have meant a lot to her. It wasn't that she was back to normal or even close to what might be considered 'well', but she was trying a little. And if she felt well enough to see past her pain and let the old Buffy peek through for even a moment now and then, that was better than he had dared hoping for after just a little more than a week. He grabbed the phone and left the room.

"Hello. Giles. She's… well, what do you think? She's _better_, but… There's no need to remind me of that. No, it's not okay, I'm not going to drag her over there to be questioned. She comes to see you when she's ready." His voice was clipped, and he knew he should make an effort to sound friendlier. He heard the bedroom door creaking behind him.

"Angel." He turned around and saw her standing there. "It's okay," she managed, even though her voice screamed that it was everything but. "We'll go there."

He could see that she was working hard to maintain her brave face. Her lips were a thin line and her jaw was clenched. She was hugging her arms around herself as if she was cold and he could see them trembling a little. But he also saw her eyes, no longer only filled with pain and despair, but also with determination and bravery. She was terrified at the idea of facing everyone again, especially Giles, he suspected, the closest thing she had left to a parent in this world. But still she tried.

As so many times before he found himself in awe at the strength of this girl. No matter how bad things got, she never let her fears overcome her power.

"We'll be there as soon as we can," he told Giles and flipped off the phone.


	63. REUNIONS, PART 1

* * *

**CHAPTER 63: REUNIONS, PART 1**

* * *

By noon heavy clouds had rolled in and the day seemed appropriately gloomy. A good thing too, at least if one wanted to avoid driving to the Magic Box aflame.

For once there were no free parking spaces outside the main entrance so Angel backed the Plymouth into the narrow alley behind the store with an experienced hand, stealing a glance at Buffy when he turned around in his seat to make sure the car was positioned right. Buffy looked small where she sat in the backseat, the fact that she had one of his large coats wrapped around her adding to that fact.

Right outside the back entrance he hit the breaks, put the car in Park and killed the engine. He stepped out of the car, taking in the aroma of garbage rising from a nearby dumpster and contemplating that this wasn't a place where he would usually willingly leave his car, but he thankful for the shadow the tight alley provided. He pulled his seat forward to make room for Buffy to get out.

She shrugged off his coat as she stepped out and he automatically reached for it, not saying to her that he would rather not have his leather coat lying discarded and crumpled in the backseat.

He locked the car and gave it one last look before they headed over to the door, keenly ware that there were a lot of beings, entirely non-forces-of-darkness-types that would endanger a car left in a concealed alley like this.

It wasn't as if he was as superficial as he may seem. Okay, maybe he was in some aspects, just a little… some would claim. But the car, the coat, it wasn't as if those things really mattered in the bigger picture. It was just easier to obsess over materialistic things than the real, bad things going on around them. Apocalypse. Pain, death, suffering, guilt. Those were things he was far too familiar with.

They crossed over the door in just a few steps and not much else could be done to postpone the next thing, which was opening it and stepping inside.

"Ready?" Angel asked and offered her his hand. It was a stupid question and he knew it. There are some things you're just never ready for.

Buffy inhaled a deep breath, purely for courage, and attempted a smile, thankfully taking his extended hand.

"Yeah. Ready." It was a stupid answer and she knew it. She could feel the attempted courage escaping her, jumping ship and slithering away in fact, those analogies weren't real mixy either, her face felt numb and she could tell that the smile she forced her mouth to turn into didn't reach her eyes.

Angel felt the doorknob. Giles had been foresighted enough to leave the backdoor open. He heard voices inside and they died down instantly when he pushed the door open. They walked through the small storeroom and approached the unclosed door that led into the store where everyone was gathered.

There was nothing he could do to make this easier for her. He didn't think that anyone would be intentionally cruel or harsh to her, but he had seen and caused enough anguish in his time to know that people who have been hurt and wronged couldn't help but act a certain way, even if they tried their best to hide their feelings. When he first came back from Hell he had seen a little of it in even Buffy, who had done everything she could to make him feel as comfortable as possible. The tension, the uncertainty, the hints of fear; it was just there, and especially to a vampire so very obvious.

Without trying Buffy counted six heartbeats. The bright florescent light in the store hurt her eyes and all the different scents – the separate odors of all the people in the store, herbs and incense and old coffee mugs – all of it seemed to invade her head, like all of her senses were on serious overdrive.

She hadn't been around people since – since _then_. Before. And before that, it had been so long and so much had happened that she wasn't sure whether it would be right to view them as friends anymore, not even taking the unspeakable evil into account. And now she was supposed to talk to them, she knew, but she wasn't sure how she was going to be able to do just that with the deafening sound of heartbeats thump-thump-thumping distracting her like this. She felt sickened by her own reaction and was ready to wring free from Angel and turn and run even before they had made it into the actual store.

The door creaked when Angel pushed it completely open and stepped through. She followed him.

There they were. All of them at once. Staring. She felt like some sort of rare animal at a zoo, one that the visitors would crowd around to get a peek of. Giles stood at the counter, frozen mid-movement. Cordelia, Wesley and Gunn sat at the large table, the research-table or book-table as she would think of it as. Faith sat _on_ the table, looking curiously at her former sister-Slayer, but there was no apparent glee on her face. Willow stood uncomfortably at one of the bookcases, clutching a large volume that she fingered nervously, clearly not knowing what to do with herself.

Buffy tried not to look any of them in the eyes. Looking at their faces, meeting their searching gazes right now… it wasn't merely her guilt that kept her from it. She was afraid of what she would find there. Fear? Loathing? Disgust? She heard a moaning from the training room, too faint for human ears to catch, but she knew instantly who it was. Anya. She could feel her, feel a pull into that room. Her creation, calling out to her. She felt as if her skin was too tight. Every word, every laugh, every blow, every drop of blood spilt, all if seemed to rush to the surface and she felt physically weak, dizzy. Speaking to or in front of these people seemed impossible right now. How would the sound of her voice, the sight of her face ever bring them anything but painful memories?

Angel sought out Wesley, Gunn and Faith's faces and nodded in greeting. Cordelia looked away pointedly. He felt a stab of guilt for not bothering to check in with them directly in the past week. He had only been talking to Giles, not even considering taking the time to call either of them up directly. As so many times before, Angel found himself handling his human relationships badly. No matter how good his intentions were to begin with he always seemed to end up disappointing or hurting people, and as much as he'd like to kid himself, it had nothing to do with the status of his soul.

He should have acted differently – they were friends, or had been. He wasn't exactly sure what the current status of those relationships was. Somehow he had a hard time imagining friendships surviving such things as he had put them through this winter, but who knew? It wasn't like he hadn't been surprised by people before.

Angel could feel how Buffy tensed up, he saw how her stance changed and how ready she was to turn and flee. He had always seen her as the strong one, the one who never gave up no matter how much was taken from her, the one who never stopped fighting no matter how hopeless it seemed simply because it was the right thing to do. It hurt him on indescribable levels, seeing Buffy like this and knowing that it was his fault that she had to go through it.

Spike emerged from the training room and Angel automatically pulled Buffy closer. He glared at the younger vampire, a mute challenge in his gaze; speak your mind and suffer the consequences. But for once Spike didn't seem to have any clever remarks up his coat sleeve. Angel couldn't tell if it was because he had actually understood and respected the gravity in his unspoken warning of it he had accidentally hit his head and picked up some unusual good taste to show a little respect.

That, or it was his crush for Buffy that shone through. A crush that alone made Angel see red with jealous rage and fantasize about crushing Spike's spine – very slowly – while he forced him to recognize his grandsire as superior, over and over… it wasn't as if they hadn't been there before, more or less.

That would be the territorial side of him talking. Feelings he generally kept pretty well concealed around humans, knowing how they tended to react to it. But however little he liked Spike's feelings for Buffy, however little he liked that he even dared think of her that way, if it would keep him civil right now, that was something, he told himself.

Angel could see the conflicting emotions all over Giles' face, despite the Englishman's attempts to remain calm and neutral. To the casual observer that would probably be how he came off, he wasn't a man big on showing his emotions in front of people, but Angel knew very well how to read people. More than he'd like, sometimes. His movements were fidgety, as if he wasn't sure how to act, what to say, if anything at all, but still Angel could see the warmth spread over his face as he looked upon the girl in front of him. He was happy about that - happy that, despite his best efforts of the contrary there were still at least a few people left in this world that loved Buffy.

That was step one. The easy part, unfortunately. Now they needed to proceed to step two, which involved initiation of actual conversation. Angel looked around at all the faces turned in their direction. Someone had to start. He wasn't a big conversationalist, but it didn't look like anybody else was volunteering.

"So," he began calmly, seeking eye contact with Giles. "You wanted to talk to us." It wasn't quite true. They wanted to talk to and see Buffy, but he didn't want her to feel singled out. It wouldn't do her any good to add a feeling of being summoned for interrogation to the emotions that already raged inside of her.

The Watcher snapped out of his trance like state and nodded, motioning towards the large table. "Ah, yes, yes of course. Please, sit down." Gunn abandoned his chair to make more room for them. Angel kept holding Buffy's hand firmly in his own as they moved across the store and ignored the look that Cordelia gave them. Angel pulled out a chair for Buffy before he sat down himself.

Giles moved across to the other side on the table to face them when he sat down and as soon as he did so his eyes immediately settled on Buffy's bandaged wrists. They should be long healed, but the wounds had been deep and Buffy's unwillingness to feed slowed down her healing rate a lot.

"Dear lord, what happened?" he spoke. Everybody's focus shifted to Buffy and she seemingly shrank before their eyes, flinching at the sound of Giles' voice and pulling her hands away, tugging at the sleeves down to hide the bandages.

"She had an accident," Angel offered, not intending for a moment to share with them what had really happened. If Buffy ever wanted to tell them, which he doubted, but if she did it was going to be when and with those whom she wanted to share it with, not advertised across the room for everyone to hear right now.

"Buffy, are you alright?" Giles asked her, genuine concern on his face. She looked carefully at him.

"I, um… They're healing." Giles made a move to examine her arms, but she jerked away, hiding her forearms under the table. He looked hurt and Buffy immediately regretted it. Couldn't she do anything right? Even when she tried to behave like she thought she should, she managed to hurt again.

"I'm sorry, Giles. It's not you. It's me. Oh, God, I-I'm just... I need to not be here." Angel found one of her hands under the table and squeezed it reassuringly. Buffy's gaze flickered between the floor and everyone staring at her. This wouldn't work.

"Giles, is it… Do you think it's totally necessary for everyone to be here for this?" He said with difficulty, trying not to sound as hostile as the words may suggest. It wasn't his meaning, but this wouldn't work, and frankly there were few polite ways of kicking people out.

"Hm? Oh! No, no, of course." Giles raised his gaze and looked around at the others. "Would you all excuse us for a minute? You can go into the training area until we are done here." Cordelia muttered something as Faith ushered everyone, including Spike, through the door and closed it.

"What do you need to know?" Angel asked in Buffy's place. Starting out with some sort of polite phrase along the lines of 'how are things' would just be awkward at this juncture. Not that he and Giles ever made much small talk, but right now, Angel just wanted to get to the point. The Watcher looked similarly uncomfortable and seemed almost thankful of his straightforwardness.

"Ah, yes, yes," he murmured distractedly, not tearing his gaze away from Buffy. "First of all, there is the matter of Anya. She seems to be, well, frankly she seems to be quite mad. We think we have a theory to why she may have become like this, but we would need to know for sure…" he trailed off.

Buffy fiddled nervously with the sleeves of her shirt. She hadn't seen this shirt for years and she could remember clearly why; she had left it at the mansion a long time ago, when she was still in High School and she still liked to pretend that she could, at least on occasion create a sliver of a normal life with her boyfriend, Hellmouth's and fiends and sacred duty be damned.

"Buffy?" Angel asked when she didn't respond to Giles' question. She looked up and bit her lip, nodding slightly.

"It was Glory. The, uh, the hellgod. She has some power to drain people's minds, I don't know really…"

Giles nodded reassuringly, not wanting to force her to dwell on a difficult subject. "That was what we suspected. However, according to what Faith said, it doesn't seem like she can do it to vampires."

"Right," Angel said, remembering. "She said that to Spike."

"Yes. Buffy, do you know if it can be reversed?" Buffy shrugged no. "Alright. We'll, er, we'll look into it." Angel could see the lines on the man's face deepening. He seemed to have aged several years in the last week. The problem, he knew, was that there didn't seem to be anything about Glory in any of the books that Giles had. All they had was what Angel could remember from the files the Council had on her. And it wasn't easy to research a foe that wasn't on record anywhere.

"There's another thing about her though. Um, about Glory," Buffy said carefully, for the first time looking directly at Giles while she spoke.

"Yes?"

"She… she's like… two people." She grimaced at how it sounded. Giles stared blankly at her for a second.

"Excuse me, what?"

"When I went to her home… uh, I found this guy. Human. Then I don't know what happened, he just morphed into her, into Glory. Like they are two people in the same body. I really don't think she liked me knowing it, 'cause that's when she started going big with the killing idea."

Giles leant forward and looked thoughtfully at Buffy. "You said there was something peculiar about Glory. Do you think can you furnish me with some details?" Buffy frowned and looked at Angel for help. Had she gone completely insane? No, he looked confused as well.

"Yeah, well, like I said," she said slowly. "They are connected somehow. I don't know how, but it seems like Glory shares her body with a human man."

"So what you're saying is that you suspect that Glory is somehow connected with a mortal man." Giles nodded slowly. "Do you have any clues to what kind of connection it might be?"

"It's… she, and he, they, um…" not sure exactly who had gone insane, maybe her, maybe him, maybe all of them, she tried to choose her words, again, even more carefully this time. She hadn't conversed with anyone other than Angel for a while; maybe she was making less sense than she thought. "They're linked. It's like a Jekyll and Hyde deal or something... but only, with, you know, bodies. Like, they're one and the same. You know, like, schizophrenia of the really physical kind."

"Yes, yes, certainly," Giles nodded earnestly, scowling in deep thought. "But linked how?" Buffy shook her head, at a loss.

"Angel, help me out here." She looked desperately at him, and he nodded, realizing.

"She's smart too," he said. "There must be a spell over Glory that makes sure that anyone that hears about or sees her morph between the different personalities instantly forgets about it."

"So why do we know?"

"I don't know, maybe that doesn't work on vampires either. That must be why she really wants you dead, because you know the truth… The truth about her weak link," he mused. "We'll have to handle it by ourselves."

"Right. Human weakness, never goes away," Buffy muttered, having a creeping sense of déjà vu.

"Buffy, Angel, whatever you need, we will be glad to aid you in any ways possible, even though I don't quite understand your reluctance at sharing whatever you know about Glory," Giles frowned, feeling somewhat uneasy that the two of them seemed to have information they didn't want the others to have.

Buffy sighed. Angel nodded simply, not bothering to try and explain it again.

"Then there is the matter of the coming battles," Giles went on. "I have thought about it, and the way I see it, we are in no immediate danger as long as we can avoid a direct confrontation. While the goddess clearly is very strong, she's at a pivotal disadvantage. As long as we can prevent her from getting all the ingredients…"

"She has them," Buffy interrupted tonelessly, focusing her eyes on a spot on the wall as she felt Angel glance at her. She hadn't told him this before now. She couldn't even explain why she hadn't. After all, if there was ever anyone to talk to about giving your blood to open a hellish-like portal, it would be Angel. But he hadn't prodded on the subject of Glory and frankly she had been afraid of what he might do if he knew. Go after Glory himself? He might have. And the thought of losing him now…

Buffy realized that after everything she had lost, seen, done and been through she had come to fear losing those close to her a lot more than she feared dying herself. She knew that she would rather give her own life than letting any of them die. Maybe it should scare her, but instead she actually felt strangely comforted by it.

"What?" Giles asked and Buffy could swear that the sudden pallor of his face matched her own. She swallowed hard and forced herself to look him in the eyes when she spoke, she at least owed him that now that she had possibly damned the world all over again through her actions.

"She has all the things she need. They, uhm, her minions asked me to shed a little blood, and that's all they need from me. Us. She has the demons and the amulets, and we can't really stop her from getting her human sacrifices."

"Oh. Dear," the Watcher uttered. Buffy stared down at the table and Giles said nothing else. Angel looked from one to the other.

"Then we find a way to kill her, or her demons or something," he said, on this very rare occasion seeming to be the most positive thinker in the room. "We'll make it."

"Of course we will," Giles agreed quickly, too quickly Buffy thought. "Of course."

"How is Xander?" she asked suddenly, forcing out the question she had wanted to ask the entire time.

"Xander is, is, er… he is scheduled to be released today. He is recovering. However, we have yet to tell him about Anya's, er, condition." Buffy nodded briefly before looking away and Giles wasn't sure what to say. He felt a strong urge to reassure her somehow, make it easier for her and take away her pain, but he suspected there wasn't much he could say that would make her feel better.

"He's going to hate me," Buffy said silently. It wasn't even a question.

"Buffy, I-I'm sure…" Giles began, but then faltered. He realized that empty words would offer her no solace. In all honesty he couldn't make any promises. Even he couldn't foresee Xander's reaction.

"When are you gonna pick him up?" Angel asked to move things along, seeing how the subject affected Buffy.

"Oh, I would say in an hour or two," Giles replied, to which the vampire nodded.

"Maybe it's best if we clear out for now then. We can come back tonight when he knows everything, let things calm down a little first. There is no point in us being here when he finds out. Might be too much for him to handle."

"I suppose that's wise," Giles agreed. "I hope things shall go – well."

"Yeah, so do I," Angel said somberly, and there was no insincerity in that reply. His problems with Xander were beside the point and shouldn't come between Buffy and Xander. He could only hope that the boy would see it the same way. The last thing he wanted was for their feud or Xander's hatred of him to alienate Buffy from the few friends she had left.

"We're off then," he said as he stood up. Giles watched them head for the door, unsure whether to speak his mind or not.

"Buffy," he said just before they slipped out, deciding. They stopped and Buffy turned to him.

"Yes?"

He walked up to her as closely as he dared without making her flinch or draw back, he moved slowly, as if wanting to assure her that he meant no harm. "Before you go, I want you to know… while we are still all a little shaken due to the recent events… there are no hard feelings towards you... as the person you are now. The coming time is of course, er… going to be a little awkward for all of us, but you must remember; we are all truly very glad to have you back."

At first she looked like she didn't really comprehend what he said, as if his words were too far from what she could imagine him saying to register properly. Then she looked at Giles and he could see wetness in her eyes for a moment before she reached out and hugged him. She pulled back quickly, before he could even really hug her back, but the gesture didn't go unnoticed and fatherly love spread over his face in a warm, genuine smile. When he caught himself he coughed and removed his glasses, embarrassed by the show of emotion.

"Yes, ah, I won't keep you any longer. We'll see each other again soon enough."

Angel looked thankfully at Giles, then exited with Buffy at his side, closing the door behind them. The ice was broken. The first step was taken, and it was in the right direction.


	64. REUNIONS, PART 2

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_A/N: Sorry 'bout the delay, busy month. Thank you for reading and please continue reviewing! :)_

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**CHAPTER 64: REUNIONS PART 2**

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Willow and Giles went together to pick up Xander from the hospital. He was still weak, his body exhausted from fighting infection and healing all the injuries it had suffered. Cuts and bruises and burns and the instruments used to cause him this torture hadn't exactly been sterile. None of the injuries had been life-threatening in themselves as long as they were cared for, but infection had been a main concern for the doctors in the last week. But Xander was finally doing better and would be alright in time. Physically, that was.

He waited outside when they came, stood at the curb clutching the small duffel bag of possessions that Willow had brought him earlier. He looked – paler. Thinner, more like she remembered him from a few years back. If one looked at his face there would be no mistaking him for who he had been a few years ago, however. The clothes – not the same ones he was brought in wearing, they had been ruined – hung off of him loosely and he stood leaning slightly against a lamppost. The overall impression wasn't as reassuring as she would have hoped.

In this fragile state, they dreaded having to share with him the horrifying news about Anya. They had avoided the subject for the most part when he was in the hospital, only telling him that Anya was with them and that she was safe. Which was a pretty cruel lie when you thought about it, considering how things were. But what had happened to Anya was already done and nothing they could have told Xander earlier would have changed that or made anything better, only made things worse for him.

Was there a 'worse' for him? Probably. If life on the Hellmouth had taught them anything, it would be that 'worse' was _always_ a possibility.

He didn't say much at all. There was a 'hi' and a spell of awkward silence before Giles offered to relieve Xander of his bag and Willow embraced Xander in a hug that turned out to be almost equally as awkward as the greeting. He smelled like hospital. Disinfectants and despair.

Willow was sick of things being awkward between her and her friends and found herself wishing fiercely for the days when things were simple – simpler – when they could at least be sure that whatever happened, nothing would ever break up the core group. The world may crumble around them, but Buffy, Xander and Willow would still remain friends…

Had things ever been that simple, really? Or was it just a fantasy she had made up to comfort herself? At least it seemed so distant that it might as well be. Right now, it seemed like an almost childishly naïve notion. There are no guarantees. Nothing is forever – not friendship, not love. Maybe the realization of that had nothing do to with the supernatural going on around them, maybe it was more about growing up than anything else. Willow sighed sadly.

Xander sat silently and stared out the window with his one good eye on the ride back to the Magic Box, a mere shadow of his past witty self.

Willow glanced at him in the rear-view mirror but he didn't meet her gaze. She wished she could know what he was thinking. She wished that she would open her mouth and ask him, but she knew she wouldn't, because if she did ask him, he might bring up Anya, and there would be no escaping this time. She flinched and turned her head away so that her face was no longer visible in the mirror from where he was sitting, suddenly convinced that if he saw the look in her eyes, he would see the truth without her saying a word.

She remembered a time when they used to share pretty much everything – she didn't think about it often, but she realized how much she missed that. There had been so much loss this last year, for all of them. Willow couldn't abandon the thought that maybe, just maybe, if they had held together closer as friends, maybe some things would have gone differently.

It was a little late for that now. She couldn't think of anything to say to him, in fact, she was pretty sure her voice would betray the brave face she had put on if she tried to speak at all right now, so she remained quiet.

It wasn't until they stepped inside the store and he saw that Anya wasn't there with the others that he uttered the inevitable question.

"Where's Anya? You told me she's… she… She's okay, right?" His voice was shrill – panicked. Barely controlled. Willow swallowed hard. He knew. He couldn't know exactly, of course, but he knew that something was horribly wrong. He knew that even if Anya had been injured or couldn't come with them and pick him up for some other reason, she would have been here to greet him.

"About that, Xander… she, er…" Giles faltered, finding his mind involuntarily flashing back to the past. As a Watcher he was destined to deal with a lot of loss, and Lord knew he had gotten more than his fair share. Eventually all Watchers had to face the ultimate loss – the loss of their Slayer – if they didn't get killed themselves first – and so had he, in spades, in fact, but the grim knowledge that nothing that happened around him wasn't according to plan, as the Council would have it, didn't make him any less tired. The Council had always prided themselves on being the constant, while the Slayers and the Evils changed. And while Giles held no doubt that the Council would eventually be rebuilt it seemed that the only _true_ constant in their world was loss.

Xander stared at Giles and let his gaze sweep from him to Willow and across the room, meeting a series of somber faces. "No. No." His eyes darkened and his hands clenched to fists and the fingernails dug into his palms. "What did she do to her?" He stared at Giles again.

"WHAT?" he repeated.

"There really is no easy way of telling you this. I'm very sorry, Xander." Jenny's emptily staring dead gaze. Buffy's ashen face matching his own when her coffin was lowered into the ground. Joyce's tragic demise. Dawn's funeral. Even more loss. "She was turned."

Those three last words crumbled Xander's world. He felt like his insides were torn apart. The woman he loved had been turned into the thing he hated the most – by a creature wearing his friends face. A creature Angel was responsible for no less. This winter had been surreal with the horrors coming in succession. So much pain and loss and sorrow. So much death He had almost been tortured to death himself this last time. But this was worse still. This time it was his girl, his beautiful Anya.

And it was his fault, for letting Buffy get her.

"Where is she?" he said simply, his face revealing no emotions. Was she really here, or had they lied about that too? What if she was out there? What if she… he didn't want to continue this train of thought.

"Where is… do you mean Buffy?" Willow asked carefully. Xander shook his head. "Anya?" Willow tried. She looked at Giles for help.

"Xander, perhaps it's better if you don't see her…"

"_Where_ is she?!" His voice was harsher this time, more urgent. He had to know. He had to see for himself.

"We have her restrained in the training area. But Xander, before you go in I must caution you… Wait!"

Before Giles could say anything else, Xander marched over to the door, surprising vigor in his step, flinging it open and entering the training room. Anya was there alone right now. She was huddled in a corner, heavy chains holding her by her hands and feet. She sat there and stared at the floor, but her head snapped up when she heard him come and she… she _whimpered_.

He didn't know what he had expected when he opened that door, but this was definitely far from anything he might have imagined. This wasn't a snarling beast trying to yank free from her chains to feast upon their tasty neck's and it wasn't the calm, calculating coldness of Angelus or… _her_, it was… like nothing he had ever seen before. She sat on the floor rocking herself, staring down again now and mumbling incoherently. It didn't seem like she even registered his presence.

"Anya? Anya!" He took a few steps closer.

"Dumb," he heard her say. "Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb. All dumb. And, and then there were many mice in the play in the theatre, and one died, but there was still many mice in the theatre. Then there was dead mice in the theatre, and one of the dead mice died but lived again, because, because the big rats told it to. But why would they do that? Because they, they kill mice."

Xander shook his head, watching her from a distance, horrified at what he saw. His sharp, talented girlfriend had been turned into, not only a vampire, but a complete lunatic. And it was _her_ fault – it must be.

Her fault meant Angel's fault. This was even his MO. Strip the victim of everything, including their sanity. _He_ got her killed.

Great, keep telling yourself and maybe one day you'll believe it, a mocking, nagging little voice in the back of his head told him. Blame it all on the demons and the vampires; it's what you've always done after all, your way to waive any share of responsibility that is yours and nobody else's. You dragged her into the night unprotected, knowing the risks. But, repeat your 'vampires bad' hymn enough times and maybe one day you'll believe that this is more Angel's fault than yours.

"What's wrong with her?" He couldn't stop staring. "She's not…" Willow and Giles came up behind him.

"That goddess, Glorificus… Glory. It seems she has the power to rob people of their minds via some form of ritual," Giles tried to explain. For a moment, relief settled on Xander's face. Maybe it wasn't Buffy that did this after all? Of course, she obviously had something to do with it, but maybe it was Glory that killed her. He watched Giles and Willow silently for a moment. Something about the look on their faces told him that the truth wasn't that cut and clean.

"Glory. Glory did this? Is she a vampire? Did she…"

"No, she didn't do… _that_." Willow hated being the one to twist the knife, but he would learn the truth sooner or later anyway. "That was… well, we didn't get there in time, she had already done it, and…"

"So Buffy did it," Xander settled.

"Well, no, not really Buffy. I mean, not Buffy-Buffy. Evil soulless vampire Buffy. And that's not really her, the real Buffy." Willow looked helplessly at Giles, hoping that he would break off her rant. He didn't need to, because Xander did it.

"Where is she now?" Xander asked.

"She's with Angel," Willow provided. Xander gave her a sharp look which made Willow realize how that sounded. "Oh! But she's all better now. We used that, um, the spell and it worked. She's _Buffy_ again. Our… the real Buffy."

"It worked?" he asked tonelessly as he turned back to Anya. She was clawing her own face and mumbling something incoherent. "And there is no way she will lose the soul. Like _him_." It wasn't as much a question as a statement.

"Well, that's the theory, anyway," Willow said, a little uncertain about what he was aiming at, looking towards Giles for help.

"In other words Xander, there is no need to be… worried that Buffy will ever turn back into the being that did this to Anya. At least as far as we know, this is permanent." Xander didn't answer, so Giles went on. "She is of course, haunted by guilt and feels very badly about everything she has done. While accepting her like nothing of this never occurred might seem impossible, we have to remember the distinction between the pure demon and the soul, and in doing so, remember that while a the demon can't be redeemed, a human soul can be – needs to be, even," he broke himself off, remembering the trembling hands, the flickering gaze and the frightened eyes of Buffy – but also the hope that lit up her face, if even for just a second, when she reached out and hugged him, seeing the possibility that her friends might forgive her.

"There is really no need for any punishment other than what she is doing to herself because of her conscience," he finished in a broken voice, feeling a strong urge to argue for Buffy's cause, to protect her – even though she wasn't present at the moment, even though Xander hadn't actually said anything to argue against him and even though it seemed out of place for him to be the one to protect her. But it wasn't so much physical aid she would require now, he knew.

"Right," Xander said simply. Willow and Giles exchanged worried glances. They couldn't determine whether the thought of personally paid vengeance had never even crossed his mind or if he wasn't even listening to what they said.

"Was it hard?"

"What?"

"The spell."

"Well no, not really. It wasn't like the gypsy curse, but there was some oil that burned her, but…" Willow trailed off, still not sure where he was going with it, thinking that maybe he even wanted to know if there was any pain involved on Buffy's part.

"Do it to her." The sorrow on Xander's face, the pleading expression when he turned around and faced Willow made her shiver. Up until now, he probably hadn't realized how serious it really was between him and Anya. He really loved her. She looked at him for a long minute. Thoughts of Tara inevitably welled up, and she imagined how she would have felt if there had been any way to get her back. Vampire or not, even a crazy one, as long as it was _her_… there were no absolutes in their world, that much she had learned. People could be brought back and helped far beyond what she would have even been able to imagine just a few years ago. Maybe there was a cure for the insanity – maybe there was even a cure for the vampirism, some way, some how. They already knew about the demon blood that Angel had told them about and there might even be other ways, who knew? And if they damned Anya to death, the dusty, eternal kind, how would she ever be able to look Xander in the eye again, knowing that maybe something else could have been done for her?

"Well, I, um…" She looked at Giles. "Can we?" There was a somber look on his face. He swallowed and pulled his mouth into a thin line, clearly not liking the direction the conversation was going.

"I-I honestly don't know. We still don't know the exact effects of this spell, not to mention the risks attached to ripping a soul out of its afterlife. This is something we have to consider very carefully. There are a number of reasons as to why we have given Angel and Buffy their souls back instead of… of eliminating them, but they are special cases." He saw Xander flinch at that. "We can't start taking liberties and meddle with the cycle of too many souls. We have no idea what the effect is in the long run. Not to even mention the fact that… the way she is now, isn't just the result of becoming a vampire. The sanity wouldn't be cured by the presence of a soul. Soul or no soul, in this state, she might very well be dangerous. She will still have the aspects and instincts just as any other vampire, and…" he trailed off, seeing the glazed look on Xander's face. Too many words, Giles, he scolded himself. As always. Too many words for a grieving boy in shock.

Willow walked up to Xander and grabbed his right hand.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, just as she had so many times ever since they were little kids.

"No Will, I'm not," he said, desperation and helplessness clear in his voice. "The last thing we did was fight about what happened here. I can't- I can't leave it like that. I failed her. I couldn't convince her that I loved her and I failed to protect her from Buffy. And I - If I hadn't been an idiot and walked home with her…" he trailed off. Touched by his words, Willow turned her head to Giles.

"Can we do it?"

Giles really wanted to say no, absolutely no. They had no idea what repercussions it would cause, not to mention the fact that they absolutely couldn't give anyone the impression that from now on, if anyone special to them was turned into a vampire, they would simply restore their souls and send them on their merry way.

A souled vampire after all, had all the characteristics and qualities that one without a soul had – and what was to say that everyone would use their powers for good just because they were in possession of a human soul? Angel had already showed that he could be just as dangerous with a soul as without one. At the core a vampire would always be just that – a vampire, a demon, soul or no soul. Just looking at the world should convince any doubters that a human soul could be just as vicious and evil as a demon. Anya herself had been human when she chose to become a murderous demon.

Giles was horrified only at the thought of ensouled vampires going bad – their powers, strength, speed and alike, mixed up with the understanding of human emotions would make them first class killers. Demonic power, informed by human passion and cruelty, and an eternity to get things right. It was a shuddering notion. Giles was eerily convinced that Angelus viciousness and sadism might very well have reached an even higher level in present time than in the 18th and 19th century due to his now perfect understanding of the human psyche.

On the other hand, he realized that if they didn't at least try to bring Anya back, the relationship between Xander and Buffy might very well be ruined. Of course Xander wouldn't see the logic in that there were no real reasons to giving Anya her soul back when everyone had prompted to bringing back Angel, whom he hated. If there was an unbreakable rift between Buffy and Xander, it would paralyze the whole group. Buffy would feel even worse and Angel would undoubtedly be at her side. And the apocalypse was upon them, again. With a shattered force, they would stand no chance against the goddess.

"We can try," he said finally with a small sigh, hoping that this would be yet another mistake with dire… fatal, consequences. For anyone.


	65. MADNESS

* * *

_A/N: Trying this one more time... with some more editing done. You may recognize the Lei-Ach demons from the BtVS episode "Family".  
_

* * *

**CHAPTER 65: MADNESS**

* * *

"When will Buffy and Angel get here?" Willow broke a long silence by asking asked later the same night. It couldn't be more than half an hour until sunset and they were busying themselves with setting up for the Sumerian soul spell in the training area. Cordelia, Giles and Wesley helped arranging the crystals and preparing the oil. And Spike, well – he _lounged_. Sitting comfortably watching as he balanced a beer bottle on his knee. Gunn and Faith had just left - to do a quick sweep of the cemeteries, they had said, but since they had actually left before the sun set Willow suspected they were feeling pretty useless and would rather get away from the tension in the store.

Xander sat quietly in a corner on a few training mats they had moved to make room for the crystals. His knees were pulled up under his chin and his arms were wrapped around them and he hadn't looked away from Anya once in the last hour, Willow had noted. Maybe looking for some sign of the girl he remembered in the vampire before him. _Vampire_ – it still felt strange to think of Anya like that.

She was a pretty sorry sight. Her clothes, the same ones she had died in – the same ones she had worn that last evening, that night when everybody had their little share in the failure that had cost Anya her life. The clothes were dirty and torn by now and she was so pale and skinny, her wrists ever so slim and bruised after struggling against the chains.

Over the course of the last hour she had presented to them all the stages of her insanity. There was the calm, introverted, yet almost lucid kind where she just sat curled up and stared ahead, looking hungrily at anyone who passed her. During those periods she would check her restraints closely for ways to get loose and it chilled Willow to think about what would happen if she did. But those periods never lasted long.

There was also the whimpering version where she would sit or lie, shaking and moaning or crying, clawing at herself and trying to hide in any way she could. If she managed to hurt herself and draw blood, that stage often changed quickly into a more purely demonic, almost animalistic stage where she changed into her game face, snarled, lashed out as soon as anyone got close and tried to reach her own wounds or bite herself to make new ones. Mostly she tired herself out during that stage, but a few times in the last week, mostly during the first days, they had been forced to sedate her, for everyone's sake. When she was sedated and during the rare times that she actually slept soundly on her own she would lie curled up or on the side, still as death – literally.

Sometimes she would rant. It could be everything from repeating a single word or phrase over and over and over until her voice was raspy, or long expositions about everything and nothing. It was strange to hear such incoherent ramblings coming out of Anya's mouth. While she had spoken _at_, if not _to_ the people in the room with her on a few occasions, no real and understandable conversation had been made, however Spike claimed that they had been "nattering".

Xander had now seen all of this, and he had said nothing. They could only guess what he was thinking.

"Angel said they would leave the mansion shortly after sunset," Giles provided. "Buffy expressed a desire to be here during the ritual."

"She should probably be behind one of the crystals," Willow pointed out, "being Anya's…" Xander flinched – the first movement he had made in over an hour, and she mentally smacked herself. "Um… The one who… did. Well, you know, _it_." Yes, very smooth. High points for tact-girl. She must have been around Cordelia too much.

Speaking of.

"Buffy this and Angel that. Blah, blah Buffy, rah, rah Angel," Cordelia muttered, throwing her arms out in a frustrated gesture. She had been unusually quiet since her last vision. "Everything is about the two of them. Am I the only one who is creeped out by how close they are these days? I mean god, if they're doing the Siamese twin impression in public, what do you think is happening behind entirely non-see through stone walls? They're spending way too much time together. Alone. Un-supervised in their bunk…er."

"Cordelia," Wesley said with a hint of "don't go there" in his voice. "I am certain that Buffy and Angel can take responsibility for their own actions." At that, she sniffed and placed her hands on her hips.

"Wesley, please. Just look at the track record here. She – vulnerable. He – protective. Mesh those two together and what do you have? It's not exactly the recipe for home made brownies, more like – disaster."

"Exactly how would that be any different from your home made brownies?" the Englishman muttered dryly, under his breath but still audible. Cordelia glared at him.

"Leaving the retort to _that_ for another day, all I'm saying is that we should keep an eye on those two, or we might find ourselves with our throats ripped out one day. And I'm way fond of my throat." She automatically threw a glance at the huddle in the corner that was Xander. On a normal day he would have commented on that, no doubt. Of course, this wasn't a normal day.

Wesley gave her a look. A look that said, 'please, let's not continue this conversation here and now'. And considering the shade of green Xander, Giles and Willow seemed to have turned, she could see why. She sighed, resigning for the time being. "Fine, fine. Don't listen to me. Believe it or not, but I _hope_ you're right. Cause, who wants another run in with Mr. Macabre Leather Pants of the Psychotic Behavior?"

"Mr. Leather Pants…" Wesley began, breaking himself off. "I did _not_ say that. It has to be very specific circumstances for that to happen. I don't think happiness of any kind is an issue right now.

"Impending apocalypse. Woe and death and destruction. Something as-good-as indestructible that wants to give us all a fiery death. I think it has all the ingredients." She stared at the covered-up windows, hearing the rain rattling against them. "Even the weather's right."

No one commented that, and Cordelia fell silent. She stared blankly at the windows and her mind traveled a year back in time. Things had been pretty good by then. Sure, she was still poor, struggling and virtually friendless – not really how she would have imagined her adult life starting out a couple of years earlier, but even though she had lost everything she would have called her life back then, she had gained something else during her first year in LA. A new sense of self far extending how she had ever felt as 'Queen C', her own place that wasn't courtesy of her dad's money and_ friends_ – so completely unlike the shallow yes-saying flock of sheep from High School that would have pranced around in dresses made of toilet paper if she had convinced them it was the latest fashion – but two friends that she trusted with her life and called family.

In a few short months Angel and Wesley had turned into more of a family than her biological one had ever been. After their offices blew up, Angel had stayed with her and with their business hitting a good stride Wesley had hung around practically every day, too. But all that seemed so very far away now. Even though she had sometimes been sick of having them invading her space constantly – if you could call it that with Angel, the guy was usually more discreet than Dennis – she missed it, a lot even.

But the days of hanging out in her apartment with the guys or having Angel making them breakfast after a whole night of wading in sewer and demon gloop or talking intimately with Angel about something she wouldn't share with anyone else – again, if you could really call it that with Angel, he usually listened more than he talked, but sometimes a good listener is just what you need – were well and truly over. Instead now Angel was back mooning over Buffy, more so than ever actually, she was back in this pisshole, and if the latest wacky nemesis of this place got her way she might soon relive the horror of facing the creatures inside the Hellmouth. She wouldn't ever forget that things face - well, faces – the stench of its breath, how Willow screamed when its tentacles grabbed her…

Of course, she _could_ just approach Angel. Say something. Not apologize, that wasn't her and what did _she_ have to apologize for – but she could make the first move and forgive him – she knew he would never ask for it. Then maybe at least that would get back to normal. But she could already tell that she wouldn't, not now. Not only did Angel currently have Buffy strapped to his arm 24/7 – and she hoped that was all she was strapped to – she was also much to proud to do it.

"So…" it was Willow's voice that finally broke the silence. Again. All heads turned in her direction. "How long is it… until sunset?" When no one replied she moved over to the windows and pulled one of the blankets aside, letting some of the last daylight into the gloomy room. She didn't worry about Anya – after all, it was raining, so there was no sunlight shining in anyway, but the daylight in itself seemed to rattle her. She started struggling and her eyes lit up.

"Lighty," she breathed. "Lights, want the lights!" She yanked her chains. "Light, light, light, take away the dark." Blood once again drawn from her wounded wrists, the smell made her vamp out and when she got nowhere with the chains she actually made a move to gnaw at her own wrists which made Xander jump up without thinking.

"Anya, no!" he shouted and took a few quick steps towards her, which distracted her enough to stop biting herself, her amber eyes locking on him, rather… intensely.

"The light is _bad_ for you," Xander went on forcefully, momentarily unaware that the eyes that were one him were those of a predator - a predator measuring up her prey.

"Xander," Giles said carefully without letting his eyes of the vampire that now licked her lips. "Back away from there." Xander froze upon hearing that and saw what everyone else saw. A memory from years ago resurfaced suddenly, a memory of staring into fierce, hungry hyena eyes very much like Anya's. He remembered the evil zoo keeper's messy end and his stomach lurched at the thought of Anya wanting to do pretty much the same thing to him.

Moving away he looked even more depressed than before. He threw himself back down on the mats and let his forehead rest in his palms, staring down at the floor. She is a monster, he thought. How can this ever be right.

"What was _that_ all about," Cordelia said, staring at Anya who had calmed down and now lay on the floor on all fours, however still in gameface, studying a bug.

"Sun fascinates vampires," Spike shrugged, having watched the scene before him with a smirk tugging at his lips. Shame those manacles were so firmly fastened to the wall, otherwise maybe the loony trollop would have helped him to both dinner and a show, though not in that order. "Only the crazy bint doesn't understand it's bad for her." He nodded towards Anya and paused for a second. "Dru never understood she could protect herself from it. Never went out in the day."

"Which could also constitute as a healthy unlife rule when the sun will turn you into a crispy critter," Cordelia commented.

"Gonna have to watch that habit if you don't wanna live with Miss Big Pile of Dust, eh monkeyboy?" Spike said pointedly to Xander, but he didn't reply, nor make any sign to show that he had heard.

Anya was still on the floor, huddling over the centipede that had caught her interest, creeping along with it as far as her chains allowed her.

"Hello, little sister," she said in a melancholy voice. "Your body is so much fun," she giggled as the thing moved. "I just wanna give you a big stroke…" Anya reached out her right hand and poked it, but since she lacked control over her new vampire strength, she crushed the bug immediately. She sat back, still not taking her eyes of the bug. "You've gone flat, little sister," she whimpered, her eyes filling with tears. "And you're all gooey. I won't play with you again, not until you've had a wash." Demonstratively she turned around and sat with her back turned to the dead bug.

They all watched as she did this and Xander looked desperately at Giles and Willow.

Spike merely shrugged and returned his attention to his beer. Anya reminded him a lot about Dru in her worst days. Only she used much bigger prey for her games; small animals - and a _cow_ once, though he preferred not to reminisce when it came to that particular event, kiddies, especially when she wanted living company for the bloody Miss Edith's tea parties, all according to her philosophy 'not worth calling it a party if no one bleeds' – which, of course, he resoundingly agreed with.

They had gone through dozens of birds living in cages – living, that was until she forgot about them and they died of starvation – or, until she decided to play with them, which usually ended with her eating or _wearing_ the damned thing, or simply spreading it all over their bedroom. She would tie the feet to her fingers, put feathers in her hair, put a shawl over her shoulders pretending it was a pair of wings and twirl round and round, chirping and whistling.

Once she had played for days, stating that he was her keeper and that the keeper needed to feed his bird if he wanted to make it tame. And she didn't want seeds – oh, no, for she was a bird of prey and would only come to him if he offered her the finest of morsels. This, however, had been during the most forgettable phase when Angelus hung around and Spike himself was confined to his wheeled prison, unable to catch his birdie any prey at all or do much else for that matter. Such games were usually above Angelus, or so he had claimed, but with Spike's situation obviously amusing him deeply he had gone out and returned with a newborn child – which had been to the birdie's liking – and a pair of binoculars, which he had given to Spike, stating that it was the only gift fitting for the _bird-watcher_ he had turned into.

Spike had spent the rest of that night alone in the darkness of the factory taking the binoculars apart piece by piece, listening to Angelus and Drusilla in _his _and Dru's bedroom, probably playing vampire doctor with the kid as their foreplay.

He looked at the one-eyed man-boy on the floor who stared at the now still and silent frame of the batty bug-slayer.

"It will be alright," he muttered. "After the spell… She will be alright."

Somehow, he just couldn't see Xander Harris playing a game of birdie num num with his fanged haywire girl.

* * *

"Buffy, are you ready to go?" Angel glanced into the bedroom. Buffy sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the window. She kept her hands in her lap, nervously wringing them, and her back was hunched, her shoulders pulled up and she looked like she would like to curl back up under her blanket and hide there, which was a sad note in itself. So unlike the vibrant force of nature she used to be.

The sun had set a while ago, and they were on their way to the Magic Box. Angel had gotten a call from Giles earlier, and he had said that they were going to restore Anya's soul using the Sumerian spell. Angel wondered if Buffy regretted her choice – for it had been hers – to be present and take part of the ritual. He knew too well how she felt – while a big part of her screamed to stay away she felt that she needed to be there, that it was her responsibility.

Angel had humbly asked Giles whether re-ensouling Anya was truly a wise thing to do, for _anyone's_ sake. The Watcher had replied, somewhat stiffly, that no, perhaps not, but that this was just one among many unwise things they had done recently for the sake of the greater good. That had made Angel think of his own dark motives for turning the insane Drusilla once upon a time, how he had found the idea of giving her not just a lifetime but an eternity to be tormented by her shattered mind fascinating, and how her eternally child-like, half-witted state had suited his plans for her perfectly, and wondered how condemning Anya to the same fate could have anything to do with the greater good – but he kept his peace as he recognized just how very little it was his place to say anything about this.

Anya's tragic fate had stirred up some painful memories, for obviously it would be impossible not to draw any parallels to Drusilla in a case like this. So had Buffy's demon he supposed – yes, that was how he thought about it; 'Buffy's demon', not who she was but an incurable disease he infected her with, how could he ever think anything else when he knew how good and pure her human soul was – and that was why the tale of Anyanka, a tale stretching over a millennia, had come to such a degrading conclusion. It seemed… unworthy, and he asked himself, if it had been Buffy in Anya's place, would he have had the strength to end it for her rather than condemning her to an eternity of not being just a demon but a lunatic?

Anya had been turned after her mind was drained, and Angel hadn't forgotten what Glory had said – it couldn't be done do vampires. And if the damage couldn't be _done_ to her in this state, what was there to say that there was any chance of it being reversed? Would Xander devote the rest of his life, which _wouldn't_ last eternally, to caring for her like this and how long would he be able to cope with that? If the relatives couldn't manage, there were facilities for humans with mental illnesses, but no such thing for a vampire. Drusilla, despite her lunacy, was still very dangerous and a most capable killer – he should know. Somehow he doubted that the presence of a soul would make her harmless, or that Anya would be. Madness, confusion and demonic strength and instincts couldn't be a good combination.

Finally Buffy snapped out of her trance and rose, taking the jacket she had put on the bed and shrugging it on. Angel headed to the door but never quite made it there. As he extended his hand to grab the doorknob he froze mid-movement.

When Buffy stepped out into the main room, she looked at him.

"What is it?"

"Something outside." She shook her head and frowned.

"Nothing like a good ambush to liven things up. Human?"

Angel slowly shook his head. "Not human." Without letting his eyes of the door he grabbed an axe that was standing against the wall. "And dead to be."

Angel swung open the door and revealed two white-gray skinned, red nosed demons with long lank hair. The demons hissed at him, revealing long, forked tongues. The creatures wasted no time with pleasantries before they attacked.

Prepared for their move Angel kicked one of them and slammed the axe into the side of the other one. It didn't kill it, but it reared to the side, growling and spitting in fury and avoiding Buffy who looked around for a weapon but came up blank. She always used to carry a weapon on her but it was a habit she, unfortunately, had gotten rid of – a few lifetimes ago... literally.

Angel ducked as demon number two lashed out at him with fingers that were more like talons, swinging his axe and slicing its throat as he got back up, but the creature merely clutched the wound and staggered on. When he took up the pursuit demon number one attacked him from behind and managed to lock his head in a dangerous grip where his neck could easily be broken, if the creature had the strength to snap it back hard enough. Which, however, it did not. The move gave Angel an opening where he managed to swing the axe behind him, hearing a satisfying crunching sound and a groan when the demon's spine parted in two and it fell in a boneless heap to the floor.

While he was busy with that the other demon had gone for Buffy, recognizing vulnerability in the opponent that didn't carry a weapon. Of course this wasn't just any unarmed girl – bones crunched and the creature uttered a pained grunt when Buffy spun and kicked and her foot connected with its face. When it was hunched over Buffy grabbed its neck in an arm hook, but her strength wasn't what it should be and she failed to flip it. Instead it grabbed her arm and dug its ugly nails into it. Buffy gasped as she could feel the claws digging all the way in to the bone, the demon roared in triumph and before she knew it she was tossed to the floor. No, scratch that, she was actually released and pushed away as something hit the demon from behind – that something being Angel's axe, now sticking out of its back, almost cleaving it in two. She usually preferred weapons that were a little handier, but right now she could hardly complain about his liking of large and heavy weaponry.

Pulling the axe out with a sickening crunch-slurrrp Angel dismissed the weapon, stepped over the corpse and hurried over to Buffy.

"Are you okay?" he asked, worry painting his face as he helped her to her feet, and upon seeing blood well up from deep claw marks he amended that to "how bad is it?" She tried to smile but suspected it turned out more as a grimace.

"Flesh wound, I think. It's no big." She was right of course, about the wound being no big deal – her body would heal itself from pretty much anything, but her lack of strength worried him. They were expected to go up against a God, probably soon, and it would require everyone at their peak – she would have to feed properly to get back up to her full strength. He helped her off with the torn up jacket. The wound was ugly but the bleeding wasn't that bad – without human circulation, it rarely was. Trying not to wince in pain Buffy nodded at the dead bodies on the floor.

"What are those?" she gave them a disgusted look, staring at their faces. Pale skin, shiny red noses. "Pennywise on a really bad hair day?" Angel eyed them.

"I think they are Lei-Ach demons. Known for their bone marrow sucking habit. Very nice." He grimaced. "The question is why they would attack us."

"Well, you know. Tasty vampire marrow makes all the demons do the wacky these days," Buffy joked humorlessly. She stared at the demon bodies, silent for a second.

"Glory," she said after a moment. "I-I mean, it's gotta be. I know too much, ergo the wanting me dead."

"Yeah, you're probably right," he agreed. "But this… this is some lame muscle to send for taking out me and a Slayer." Buffy flinched at his choice of words and gave him a look but he didn't seem to notice. She couldn't help to wonder if he was just humoring her or if he really still thought of her as a Slayer.

"I – um, well, don't actually think she has very high thoughts of me as an opponent," Buffy muttered, thinking back to her last encounter with Glory that ended in a pathetic getaway through sewer tunnels. Angel pondered her words, remembering his own meeting with the goddess. Not exactly something to brag about. No, Buffy might be right. Glory was obviously a God with high thoughts of herself, and she wasn't impressed with her opponents. She was so convinced she could take them out with a simple flick of her wrist that she didn't even bother to send assassins with an actual chance to succeed. Even worse, she might be _right_.

Not at all a comfortable notion.


	66. SOUL POSSESSION

* * *

**CHAPTER 66: SOUL POSSESSION**

* * *

Angel and Buffy made short work of dragging the demon carcasses outside and hiding them for later disposal. Angel wanted to clean and dress Buffy's wounds, but she insisted that the bite had already started knitting together and that she was fine. Besides, they had people waiting for them.

She would have liked to stretch her legs and walk the distance to the Magic Box, but Angel argued it was an unnecessary risk to be on foot if Glory had more demons on the move on lookout for them tonight. Buffy wanted to ask him since when that was an argument _against_ them walking, but she refrained from doing so. She got it, after all. Big battles ahead which would need them all as intact as possible. They were in a hurry and shouldn't let the others wait. And of course, she hadn't exactly shined, trying to take out that Lakey-thing. Her best move had been to offer the thing her arm to chew on as a distraction while Angel swooped in to save her. Some _Slayer_.

Those were the morose thoughts that plagued her during the short car ride. Buffy stared out the car window and thought that it should feel stranger than it did that she could no longer see herself in it. It scared her, how quickly she had adapted, for the lack of a better word, to being a vampire. The general idea was that a Slayer was a warrior of light, but she wasn't so sure. If what she was now was the complete opposite of what she had been, shouldn't it feel more different?

Where did a Slayer's powers come from, anyway? History – the history she knew that was, which granted wasn't all that much as she had never even seen that Slayer Handbook – made them out to be some kind of superheroes. Exalted, revered in some cultures. Champions of the people and all that's good and righteous. That all sounded very nice. But what if they were just girls imbued with some demonic essence, as capable of evil as good if she so chose? And if she had _chosen_ to be good once, did that mean she had chosen to be evil when she rose as a vampire? What exactly was she now, then, was she still choosing? Was the soul the entire answer and what did it mean, really, to be in possession of a soul?

She thought back to that first night after she was resurrected. She thought about how weak she had been and all the mistakes they had made that had led to so many deaths – including her own, but mostly she thought about what Wesley had told her. About Angel, and the Council, and everything that had happened after she had succumbed to the poisoned arrow.

The Council of Britain was gone, destroyed by Angel. All those stuffy old guys that had damned her and oh so many other girls to a short and brutal life alone in the darkness. They had devoted so much energy to trying to destroy the only vampire - nix that, it had been _vampires_ that were working on the same side as them and the whole thing had blown up in their faces. Quite… literally.

It might be her new demonic side talking, well she hoped it was, but on some level she felt they had it coming. Those people had tormented her long before she became what she was now. Her life had meant _nothing_ to them, even when she was supposed to be their warrior. If the Slayer was stupid enough to get killed, or too weak to survive the lovely surprise they offered her on her eighteenth birthday, or if she stepped one inch too far out of line and had to be put down like some animal, they didn't care. A new Slayer would come along and the whole thing would start up again.

They _wanted_ her estranged and alone, living in secret hiding what she was, working isolated on the frontline of a nightly war, until some monster got the better of her, and when that happened, the Council's biggest concern would probably be the hassle of having to start all over again with a new kid. How many Slayers never made it through the first week, the first year? She had never asked Giles those things. It wasn't a merry subject. Besides, it was only the intervention of her by the Council much un-approved friends that had kept her from dying at sixteen and becoming one of the statistics.

The Council had never approved of her. She had brought them shame, allying with the enemy... _loving_ the supposed enemy. Her methods, her attitude and her life were all wrong. She figured they might even have _liked_ it when she was turned – finally they had a solid reason for hunting her down.

Still, though. All this aside, people had been killed, and not only people that were directly responsible for her suffering, and it had been Angel's choice to kill them. She wasn't sure she liked the notion of him being capable and willing to make such a choice, soul firmly in place. She was even less sure that she liked the fact that now, with demonic instincts added to her powers, she couldn't guarantee that she wouldn't have done the same thing if the tables had been turned.

She groaned. The wound in her arm stung, but these heavy thoughts hade made her head hurt a lot worse than that. Was she _brooding_? Was this a brooding headache? She hadn't been known to spend a lot of time brooding, but this definitely felt like it might be it.

She dreaded meeting Xander. Yes, that was the right word for it – dreaded. She - big bad Slayer-vampire, torturer and killer of dozens dreaded this meeting. Out of all her friends, he was the one she had hurt most, on all levels. The meeting before, and seeing Giles, had given her a smidge of something she had thought she would never feel again – hope. Hope that just maybe there would be a way back for her, even if things would never be what they had been. But some things were just ruined beyond repair and she feared her and Xander's friendship would be one of those things. Inner demon or not, how would he ever be able to look at her without old wounds opening up again?

She wasn't sure how she would be able to face him again. But she would, of course. No way was she backing out. If he wanted Anya re-ensouled, and if she could help with that, she would, even though deep down she thought that she would be better off staked.

And speaking of staked, if that was what he wanted to do to her afterwards, she would probably let him. She glanced at Angel. He never would, of course. And she knew she had no right to take the easy way out. He hadn't, even though she knew he had wanted, probably a million times. They both had things to atone for, and so she would have to stick around for that. Slayers, champions, whatever – they weren't allowed to live or even die for themselves. Their fate was to live their lives as well as end them for the good of the world. It was the way it was supposed to be. For her there was definitely no easy way out. In life and in death alike, she was born for this fate.

The car pulled to a stop and the steady hum of the engine silenced. They were here.

* * *

Gunn turned when the bell on the door jingled. His stake-bat rested against the counter and a loaded crossbow lay loaded on the countertop, ready for use. He and Faith had just returned from patrol and he was taking his sweet time sorting through and polishing off their weapons. And keeping an eye on the door, ready to fatally impale whomever, or whatever, might come through, if necessary. Faith had already gone into the training room. He would rather keep out of that emotional inferno as long as necessary.

He couldn't for the life of him see why they would waste so much energy trying to re-ensoul a crazy vampire, but he hadn't said anything. This wasn't his turf; he was just along for the ride. As far as he was concerned all of the Sunnydale people seemed _more or less _crazy and apparently this was the way things were done around here. He had silently wondered how they would react to the information that his sister had been turned a year ago and that he had been the one to kill her. She had been his baby sister, his only family and the only person he had loved, but when it came right down to it he hadn't hesitated. Would that appall them, or change their viewpoint on Anya? He had opted not to find out. What would be the point?

Patrol had been a success. He'd enjoyed some alone time with Faith – hunting with her. Now fully healed, the girl was a tornado. He'd almost felt sorry for the vamps. Okay, not really. Frankly he'd enjoyed it like hell.

Sunnydale now had six less vamps, and two less spiney looking things that were covered in purple hair and had three mouths each. And some mean spitting skills, or so Gunn had found out first hand when he had asked the ugly things how the hell they could afford dental care. The spittle, as it turned out, was neon green, sticky as glue and would not be beaten by mere soap and water. And it _burned_.

Gunn thought that rumors of the upcoming apocalypse must be spreading but according to Faith this was nothing out of the ordinary for this town, though she had never seen those purple things before, she had informed him as soon as she had stopped laughing at his expression when he was spit upon.

Luckily, Gunn had plenty of training when it came to living in a war zone. This place was almost like home.

"Hey," he greeted the entering couple. Angel nodded shortly. Buffy's gaze darted nervously and she seemed relieved upon realizing that Xander was not in the room.

If someone had told him a year ago that he would be heading up the coast to help a pair of ensouled vampires to save the world he would probably have died from lack of oxygen, having laughed so long and hard at this ridiculous suggestion. Life had a funny way of not turning out the way you had thought or planned.

He glanced at the petite blonde. Looking at this girl, nobody would believe that this was a creature of great power. He had thought that a Slayer would be… taller. More imposing-like. If someone had told _her_ a year ago where, or rather _what_ she would be now, she probably wouldn't have believed it either. Though he was pretty sure she wouldn't have laughed.

Angel laid eyes on Gunn's stained sweater that lay discarded strewn out on the floor in a disgusting heap and frowned.

"You meet a Gloarkh'magthnik?" he asked and Gunn stared incredulously at him.

"Two, actually. And, I didn't ask. But if that's how they introduce themselves, I'm starting to get the whole triple-mouth-deal."

"Is there something special about a Gloat…rk…whatever it was you said?" Buffy asked with a grimace.

"They like to keep – pets," Angel replied uneasily. "Like the kind of pets you could only get from a Hellmouth... or similar. There are groups of them in Africa and the Middle East that used to breed hellbeasts, keeping them as company, slaves, and raising armies, but a lot of them have been wiped out over the course of the last several decades. They're probably here in hope of replenishing their… kennels."

"I told Faith," Gunn sighed. "Rumor is spreading. Every kind of creep and slimey will come here to make sure they all get a spot at Demon Con '01."

Buffy's eyebrows were raised in question when she looked at Angel. "How do you know this? Do I want to know?"

"Probably not," he said evasively, in vain hoping that she would leave it at that. Her insistent gaze informed him that she would not. "But, let's just say that the pelt of a Gloarkh'magthnik makes a desirable shawl for a certain, um… Dru." Buffy looked away quickly, maybe regretting that she had asked.

"Oh."

An uncomfortable silence settled. Gunn was well enough informed to know that Drusilla was a sensitive subject. After a few moments he cleared his throat.

"So, they're waiting. Should we go in?"

Having heard voices Giles poked his head through the door. He looked tired. It had been yet another long and trying day, and he couldn't hide the worried wrinkles around his mouth and eyes even though he tried to smile at Buffy.

"Ah, there you are, just in time. Please, come along."

Angel stood back, allowing Buffy to enter first. At first she seemed hesitant to do so, but then she seemed to make up her mind and took a deep breath, purely for courage, and stepped through the doorway. Angel kept a step behind her. Buffy was strong, a lot stronger than she gave herself credit for and the last thing he wanted was to get stuck in a routine where he would always take the lead and have her unconsciously falling into place behind him. It had never been like that in the past – he wouldn't have wanted it, and she wouldn't have allowed it – and he felt that it was important that she regained her sense of self, her confidence and ability to take initiative. Stepping first into that room and be the first one to face Xander was another step in the right direction. And, when it came to Xander Harris, he knew that he would have nothing useful in the way of aid to offer her.

The tension in the room was thick enough to be cut with a knife. Buffy wasn't sure whether all of it was about her, but she didn't think so. It was weird, this sensing stuff. Angel had never been able to describe it and neither could she – it would be like trying to describe colors to a blind man. Somewhere between smelling and, well, just _feeling_, she could pick up on the conflicting emotions filling the room, which by the way was rather crowded and the aroma of fear, sweat, nervousness, burning incense, drying blood and disinfectants overwhelmed her.

She glanced quickly at Angel but he seemed unfazed. But then, he had more experience, and dealt better with this stuff. She heard the steady thump-thumping of several heartbeats and didn't fail to notice how some of them sped up just as she entered, but she tried to ignore it. Then her gaze settled on Anya who sat on the floor, having pulled herself as far into the shadows as she could. She seemed to have shrunk since she last saw her, but maybe dying would do that to you. She wasn't much more than skin and bones and she stared ahead hollow-eyed.

She looked up at Xander, warily, seeing that he had somehow maneuvered himself to stand between her and Anya. His arms were crossed over his chest. His face was set, unreadable. Buffy had to look away when she saw bandages peeking up above his collar and under his sleeve, a painful reminder how slowly ordinary humans healed and how short time had really passed since she caused him all that pain.

A memory from three years ago flashed through her mind, a memory of a mangled Giles stumbling out of the mansion, supported by Xander, and Buffy realized she had no idea how long it had taken him to recover. They had never spoken of it. But she knew, remembered, that Giles had thought it a betrayal when Angel came back and she didn't tell him. Did Xander think it a betrayal that Giles welcomed her here, after everything?

The sight of Xander and the reminder of his wounds also made her realize that she could remember the taste of his blood, almost feel it on the back of her tongue… and that she, some part of her, wanted to taste it again… and it disgusted her. Xander was a _person_ – not a damned _snack_. He had been her friend for years, and still the demon in her seemed constantly trying to persuade her that he was nothing more than a flesh container full of blood pumping away.

Willow sat on the floor, cross-legged, clutching a small bottle of oil and a book. She kept turning the pages of the book, concentrating on that excusing her from having to look at Buffy, she guessed. She knew Willow well enough to know that she would know exactly which page she needed.

Spike lit a cigarette and Giles scowled. He ignored it and gave Buffy a curious look but said nothing. Spike looked up and past Buffy and even if she didn't see Angel she could tell that the two vampires had locked gazes, because she could pretty much feel him tense up behind her. Was this another male-type battle of the mind… maybe not of the _mind_, exactly… and for what?

Faith fiddled with some weapons on the wall, Cordelia looked bored and Wesley was the first one who spoke, greeting them with a simple hello. Faith nodded in their direction.

"Yo, B. Now that _all_ the killers are present, I guess we could do this." Faith was just trying to lighten the mood, but Buffy flinched at her words, as if scorched, and Xander turned sharply to glare at Faith. She shrugged, unconcerned.

"Just saying that I'd like to get on with it. I have other things… post-slayage things… to take care of before I sack it." Was that grin on her face directed at Gunn? "Not all of us sleep through the day."

"Faith, I beg you not to elaborate," Cordelia stated before she turned to Wesley. "But she's right – are we doing this or what? So Buffy's a blood sucking killer who has, like, reformed. Nothing we haven't seen before. No need to actually take the tension and rub it in, is it?"

Always trust Cordelia to utter the brutal truths.

"Yes, yes," Wesley murmured. "Quite. Willow…?"

The redhead got up, the hand clutching the oil trembling slightly. Afraid? No, Buffy couldn't smell any fear – and how weird was it to be able to _smell_ fear, anyway. The witch was anxious. _I crumble under pressure. _That was a long time ago, and Willow had come a long way since, but right now she looked as uncertain as she had then. Buffy didn't know how much of that apprehension could be assigned to her presence, but she suspected it was a pretty big part.

Willow knew she had started acting like an idiot as soon as Buffy entered the room. She was fidgety and nervous and all awkward, and knowing that Buffy must be able to tell didn't make things any better. She got up from the floor and met her gaze and recoiled slightly when vivid memories from the past couple of weeks, months came rushing in. She mentally scolded herself for her reaction, because she knew on a conscious level that this wasn't the demon that had killed Anya and tortured Xander – not really. Demon or not, in spirit this was the same friend who had saved her life numerous times. She of all people ought to know, she was the one who had returned her soul after all. But when she attempted a friendly smile her face felt numb, not her own, and things got even more awkward.

This is not helping, damn it, she thought, feeling like slapping herself when she saw Buffy's dejected look. She wanted to say something encouraging but her mind seemed unable to come up with anything appropriate.

"So, um…" she managed instead. "Buffy… you're gonna have to grab a place behind one of the crystals." Willow wondered idly whether Angel had explained the ritual to her. She had been unconscious the last time after all. But she seemed to understand well enough what was expected of her. She nodded shortly. "And then, then I'll take one and Xander one." Her mouth felt very dry and she wondered whether she would be able to sound out the spell without faltering.

"First, I need to anoint her with this oil. Since she's not unconscious, we're gonna need to hold her steady." Buffy's head snapped up at hearing this.

"What?"

"Of course," Giles said, stepping forward. He didn't say that they had agreed that they would rather keep Anya awake during the ritual because last time they had sedated her, it had taken her a long time to come around – a lot longer than it should. She was weak, and even though it couldn't actually kill her, it was an unnecessary risk. He spared a glance at Angel and wondered whether it would have been better, for Xander's sake, to do this before he came – but Anya was unpredictable and they would need a few people with superpowers to hold her securely. He didn't want anyone getting hurt. Anyone… else. Not more than necessary, anyway.

"Faith, if you could hold one of her arms. And the other… Spike, if you're going to hang around every day, why don't you stop your bloody puffing and lend a hand? And Angel, if you would hold her legs…"

Awkwardly they got in position after Spike had nonchalantly discarded the cigarette and crushed it under his boot, ignoring Giles' annoyed expression. As soon as they touched her, Anya started screaming. Arms flailing, legs kicking, Angel had to put his weight firmly on her legs for her to be completely still. Faith held the right arm steady, Spike took the left and looked amused when Anya continued her shrieking and Angel held her down.

"Just like old times, eh?" Spike smirked and Angel gritted his teeth. Xander stared at the spectacle in silence and kneeled at Anya's head, extending a shaking hand to stroke her hair but pulling it back when Anya snarled and amber eyes stared up at him, her face starting to change.

Angel was well aware of Xander's hard gaze at him, at his hands on her. There was jealousy mixed in there with the hardness and a part of Angel, one that he mostly kept buried and hidden, _liked_ making Xander feel that way. He wasn't about to look up at him, partly because he didn't want to make a scene out of this, and partly because that forbidden side of him wanted it too much – that would be the same part of him that whispered to him that Xander should have never made it out of the Magic Box alive that last time. Angel liked to think that he mastered self-control pretty well, but meeting Xander again and feeling his fierce gaze on him affected him more than he liked. Yet another high-point, maturity wise.

"Okay, be ready," Willow said as she bent down and anointed Anya the same way she had Buffy, either not seeing, or simply ignoring the tension between her friend and the vampire. The oil burned her and she screamed even louder, crying and struggling. When it was done and they released her she retreated to her corner, whimpering quietly. But then, her eyes locked on Buffy and she sniffed the air, licking her lips. Buffy moved uncomfortably and Anya continued staring at her –no, she realized, at her torn, blood-stained sleeve and the wound underneath.

"I – I like it when the red water comes out." Buffy frowned and turned away so Anya wouldn't se her arm. "I like it when the red water comes out!" She said again, seeming desperate when she couldn't see the wound anymore, yanking her chains. "I LIKE IT! WHEN THE RED WATER! COMES OUT!" She yanked her chains frantically for every exclaim. Willow shook her head and took a step back.

"She's – she's out of her mind. What's wrong with her?"

"It's the blood," Angel said as he handed Buffy a towel that was still in the room since it was used as a training area. "How much have you been feeding her?"

"Um – well, we… we haven't." Willow looked sheepish and looked at Giles for support.

"We thought she would be easier to control without it," the Watcher offered, but the excuse sounded… lame, he was fairly certain. The frown on the vampire's face silently asked the question why no one had bothered to ask him. But calling Angel to discuss vampire foddering had not exactly been something anyone had been volunteering to do.

"It doesn't matter now," Angel said silently, figuring that the fact that they hadn't asked might have something to do with his own behavior. He hadn't exactly made himself available this last week. "Let's just get this done."

"Yeah, okay, so, um… the crystals, everyone." Willow, Xander and Buffy sat down uncomfortably. Buffy stared at the floor and Xander stared at Anya, neither making eye-contact. Buffy looked around. Angel seemed to have melted into the shadows as he often would; only now she could still see him clearly in the gloom. The look he gave her was reassuring, she thought, and she kept her gaze locked with his throughout the ritual.

When the chanting was completed and the energy seemed to have gone out of the crystals, Anya gasped, her body convulsing for a second before she collapsed to the floor.

"Is that it?" Xander asked, watching the shivering girl on the floor, his voice a little disappointed as if he had expected that there would be more to it.

"That's what happened the last time," Willow confirmed. "It should be done."

Xander watched Anya, as did the others, except for Buffy, who mostly watched Xander watch Anya, seeing the pain on his face.

There wasn't much of a change. As soon as she recovered from the pain, she curled up and started mumbling to herself again.

"Un-whole…. Hole… there is a hole… unhole… unholy…" the more sensitive ears in the room picked up.

"But, she… she's…" Xander swallowed hard.

"Xander, I know this is difficult, but I thought we were clear on the fact that her mental condition has nothing to do with the presence of a soul… or the lack thereof. I truly hope we can find a way to, to… restore her, but the soul won't change anything," Giles tried to explain carefully.

"Right. It doesn't matter. We'll – we'll find a way. That's what we do, right? When someone goes ballisto-nuts, we help them out." Xander grabbed the key to the chains and unlocked her while the others stood by, aware that Anya wasn't necessarily to be trusted just because she was now in possession of a soul. But the vampire on the floor seemed almost apathetic and she made no movement when Xander removed the chains.

"Anya…" Xander said softly, brushing her cheek with his palm. "Anya, it's me, okay? Do you recognize me?"

She looked at him with big, serious eyes.

"Xan…" she began. He smiled.

"That's it."

Her gaze strayed off him and settled finally on the crushed bug on the floor from before.

"Xanthous!" she said with a big smile.

"What?" Xander shook his head. "What are you saying?"

"Xanthous, it's… a, a word for the color yellow," Giles said quietly and Xander stared with disgust at the drying muck on the floor.

"Oh," Xander sounded in quiet disappointment that Anya hadn't really recognized him. "So she knows an impossible word for yellow bug guts, but she doesn't recognize me?"

"She will though," Willow assured. She frowned and looked at Giles. "Right?" He looked uncertain and worried when he tried to find the right words.

"I think… well, given enough time, with proper care and understanding… perhaps... er… she could regain some of her former self. We-we have no idea how far the damages were extended or even if, if there is actual physical damage to her brain or merely a spell of some kind." The watcher sighed, feeling that his words hadn't been quite as assuring as he would have liked them to be.

"Well, we'll find something. I'll find something," Willow said, eager to give help.

"Can I take her home?" Xander kept his gaze locked on the shell of what had been his girlfriend.

"I suppose it would be in her best interest," Giles said after considering it for a moment. "Familiar surroundings could only do her good. However, you will have to keep manacles and sedatives around at all times for safety. She is confused and she's still a vampire. You have to be aware of the risk that she might become, er…violent. Perhaps someone could stay with you for the night, just to make sure that she is… that she settles in without trouble." He was silent for a moment, considering who would be best suited for this mission. "Faith, would you mind?"

"Not quite what I had in mind for tonight," the Slayer grimaced, but she relented upon seeing Giles' imploring gaze. "Right, whatever. Guess it's the most action I'll get tonight."

Xander turned to the group, clearly avoiding Angel with his gaze. The fact that he hadn't spoken a single word to Angel or Buffy didn't go unnoticed by anyone. Buffy wondered whether it was a good or a bad thing. Angel figured that it was probably better than the alternative. "Can someone please drive us home?"


	67. LOVE AND LOSS

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_A/N: Oi, kind readers! It's been another busy month so sorry about the delay, but here is a loong chapter to reward those of you who wait ever so patiently. :)_

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**CHAPTER 67: LOVE AND LOSS **

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Xander was beginning to feel like a vampire himself when he _felt_ dawn approaching rather than seeing it. He couldn't see it, because the first thing he had done when they arrived home last night was to hang a couple of heavy blankets as make-do drapes to cover the bedroom windows. He could, however, feel it, mostly because every fiber in his body screamed with exhaustion, and it wasn't just any kind of exhaustion but one he knew very well – it was the battered body and might-as-well-have-cotton-for-brains kind of exhausted that only presented itself when night turned back into day without as much as a minute of shuteye. He had been there before, a lot. Apocalypses, getting his ass demonically kicked after hours, all night research party. He'd had his fair share of nightmare-like all-nighters. So many, in fact, that he was pretty sure none of the actual nightmares he had ever had would measure up.

However, despite the long and impressive achievements list in the matter, he didn't think any night before this one had ever been quite this difficult. Emotionally, at least. Though with his entirely non-fit for fight body the constant sitting up straight and walking around made an argument for it being up there physically as well.

Giles had driven them home. Faith had been in the front seat and he had been with Anya in the back. The ride hadn't gone as smoothly as they had hoped…

As soon as they got out into the night, Anya changed. It was clear that this was now her element. She had struggled, and everyone had been there to see it. Xander had fiercely wished their judgmental eyes away. Especially _the happy couple_. They had no right to be looking at him, at Anya the way they were. At him like he was pathetic, and stupid, and would get himself killed. At her like she was a three legged horse or something – better off dead and buried.

He would have at least expected Buffy to understand. It wasn't like she hadn't been in the same situation herself a few years back, with her own personal deranged vampire. It wasn't like she had dusted him, oh no, she had hidden him, cared for him, protected him. Without telling any of them. Without giving it a single thought what would happen to all of them if her crazy lover thought himself back in Hell and started chowing down on the populace... _or_, fully realized that he was out of Hell and it gave him one hell of a happy, excuse the pun, with the same results. Oh, how he remembered the feeling of betrayal that night when he found them.

If Buffy had been able to make it work, all on her own, so would he. He would show them. He was going to keep her in his apartment – their apartment now, and he would devote as much time as he needed to, to make it work. And it would. Yes, damn it, it would. They would all see. No way would he fail her again.

Fascinated with the stars and the darkness and the cool night air Anya hadn't been very willing to get into the car. For several minutes he hadn't managed to persuade her. Just when Angel had looked ready to suggest physical violence – well, was there a time when he wasn't? – Giles had pulled a laser pointer out of his pocket and managed to lure her inside the car by blinking it.

When they were on the way, Anya started sniffing Xander. Not a friendly Labrador-getting-to-know-you kind of sniff but a full on predator whiff taking in the scent of blood, and Faith had pulled out her stake. If Xander hadn't insisted on them maneuvering her into her seatbelt she would have jumped out of the moving car, after hissing at the Slayer. Only when Giles told her to remove the stake from sight did she calm down.

Once outside the apartment building, Anya had bolted on them. Faith had cursed as she tore off in pursuit into the darkness with Giles following her at a considerably slower pace while Xander remained at the car, recognizing his inability to follow. He actually had to hold on to the car to avoid swaying on his feet. He was feeling sick, which would probably be because of the meds combined with stress, not eating since he left the hospital and the decided lack of the rest the doctor had ordered.

Just as Xander started to worry they came back, five minutes later. All three of them. Faith held Anya by the wrist in a firm grip and all three of them were covered in… mud.

"When we got your girl here cornered she tried to burrow down in a mud hole," Faith explained, grimacing. "Pushed in grandpa here. Wasn't too willing when I pulled her out. Hence the… swamp monster look."

Giles asked politely whether they needed any further aid, which Faith assured him that they didn't and then they parted for the night. Giles moved stiffly into his car – maybe because he felt disgusting in his soggy clothes and wondered how the poor, light leather interior of is car would fare, or maybe he had pulled something when he fell.

Anya was a complete mess and they spent the next hour struggling to remove her muddy clothing and keeping her in the shower for long enough to rinse the worst of it off.

Faith suggested knocking her out for the event of dressing her again, but Xander managed to get her into a bathrobe without too much trouble. She was mostly quiet when he led her to the bed, and he was appalled by the feel of her slim wrists. There was virtually nothing there except skin and bone.

Willow had been forethought enough to by a couple of pints from the butcher and had handed Giles the bag before they left. Xander had put the plastic containers straight into the fridge. He contemplated feeding her right away, there was no doubt she needed it badly, but as soon as he sat down on the edge of the bed he felt how tired he was, and how little energy he had left for such an event. If she had gone this long without blood, surely a few more hours wouldn't harm her.

After Faith had taken a quick shower herself and stared with repulsion at the clothes Xander offered her – some things that Anya had left at his place at one time or another – finally deciding on the only things she could stomach wearing, black jeans and a dark tank top – she flopped down on the couch, announcing that she could see the bedroom from where she sat, 'so they best not get down to any nasty business, fangy or otherwise'. Faith was just… being Faith.

The first hour had been quiet. Anya had been still, so very still in fact that Xander had gotten the eerie feeling of having a corpse in his bed – which, of course, wasn't _untrue_.

But then Anya had snapped out of her trance, or sleep, or whatever it was, and stared at him with very much aware, with very much _amber_ eyes. When her lips parted slightly, he saw fangs. A low growl emitted from her throat. If a lion, or a wolf, or even a big dog – anything with big sharp teeth and a willingness to embed them in your flesh – looked at you like this, would make a good point of putting some distance, or some bars, between you and it. This being even truer with a vampire.

But Anya wasn't some animal, damn it! And she wasn't like the many snarling beasts he had met on patrol over the years. She wasn't, she couldn't be. Or was he being simpering and naïve for thinking that a soul and some TLC would make a difference?

Nope, he wasn't. If he was going to make this work, he needed to stick to his convictions. Buffy always had, even when she shouldn't. Even when nobody had agreed with her, including him. If it killed her, she would always stick to her convictions concerning a certain vampire.

Of course, it _had_ killed her.

He wasn't about to call out to Faith. He needed to be able to handle her… things like this, on his own.

But if he was going to live long enough to be able to handle anything, he needed to do something. _Now_.

Feeling very much like a mouse trapped by a much larger cat Xander felt bad for what he did next, reaching under his clothes and pulling out a small cross which he shoved in her face just as she, still growling, reached out a hand to grab him. She hissed and retreated, a hand over the burn. He didn't want to hurt her, but he didn't want to turn into a midnight snack either.

When did things become this weird? Not – not normal weird. That kind of weird he was used to, had been for the last five years. This was in fact weird even on his scale, and that was saying something.

Anya spent the rest of the night curled up on the edge of the bed, as far away from him as possible with her back to him. She could be sleeping, or she could not be, he wasn't sure – as since he didn't know, he couldn't relax enough to rest himself.

And now, night was over. A new day had begun, all bright and sunny, Californian style. He could hear soft snoring from the living room couch. His bodyguard or whatever she was meant to be had made herself comfortable. She had flipped on the TV earlier and it was still on. He could hear the cheerful sounds of cartoons blaring from the speakers.

Anya made a move and his hand automatically clasped tighter around the cross he had kept in his hand the whole night. His dog-tired mind wondered idly if a squirt bowtie filled with holy water would be a cheerier option for protection than the cross. More him, so to speak. He doubted it.

She rolled onto her back and clasped her hands over her stomach, whimpering.

"Anya, what's wrong? An?"

"Growly," she said, and Xander wasn't sure if she was speaking to herself or actually answering him. Then she lifted her head and looked at him. "Belly has teeth… lots of teeth, and they're very angry."

"You're hungry?" Anxious not to let her down now when she finally seemed to be talking to, rather than at him, he got up. "Do you want blood?" Anya's gaze drifted down from his face and settled on his neck, and he inched nervously in the direction of the door. "Um, of-of course you do. Sit tight and I'll get some for you, okay? Just, just stay there."

He remained looking at her for a few seconds. She was still staring at his neck, but her eyes seemed blank, like she wasn't there. Which was painfully true. Glory had taken a part of her, and what was left would never add really add up to the girl he had known and loved.

But just when he was about to turn and leave, she looked up at him. Her eyes looked different, just like before – before the insanity and the vampirism that was.

"Yes," she said, smiling broadly. "Yes, Xander."

When Xander turned and left the bedroom his step was light and he felt a smile spread across his own face. Then again, there might just still be hope yet. He could see the first beams of sunlight shine in through the blinds in the living room. He pulled the door almost closed behind him, because he didn't want her seeing the light. It was going to be a beautiful day, he could feel it.

He barely hesitated before taking out one of the blood containers from the fridge. He could get used to this – he could. It was just blood. And he had gotten used to her smelly cheese habit, after all. Still, to make it a little less 'feeding the monster in the bedroom' and a little more 'bringing your girlfriend coffee in bed', he retrieved her favorite mug from the cupboard and filled almost to the brim with blood. He took a trying sniff when he lifted the cup, careful not to spill. It wasn't as bad as he had thought it would be, he thought as he put the cup in the microwave and turned it on. It smelled vaguely metallic, nothing else really. It had nothing against the stinky cheese habit.

Of course, as he found a minute later, the smell became a little more… _fragrant_ as the blood heated up. He wondered if she could smell the blood from in there… she probably could.

"What the hell?" a sleep tussled; straight-from-the-couch Faith muttered and sniffed the air, wrinkling her nose. "I say. Yuck."

"It's food for her," Xander shrugged defensively, staring at the rotating cup in the microwave.

"Never thought I'd see the day when Xander Harris would be so casual about feeding a vampire. You realize you're gonna start every day of the rest of your life like this, right?"

"Will you quit it? It's just _blood_, no big deal. I'd think you of all people would agree," Xander snapped at her, unusually grouchy from pain and exhaustion.

"Yeah, whatever," Faith murmured, and if since she was who she was, Xander would never had been able to catch the hurt look on her face before she wiped it off, even if he _had_ looked at her. "Well, since that's why I'm here, yell if she decides to make you dessert or something," she said before disappearing into the bathroom and closing the door firmly behind her.

The microwave beeped. Xander avoided inhaling when he took out the steaming cup. A wave of uncertainty hit him. Should he bring a straw, some napkins – or a crossbow? He might be a deluded fool, but he wasn't completely lost. He knew he was dealing with a vampire and a vampire had its instincts. This particular vampire hadn't had any blood since she rose – she might become, well, violent. Maybe he should wait for Faith. He glanced at the bathroom door as he considered it. Right, wait for Faith to come and mock him some more. No, thank you. Best to just get this over with.

When Xander entered the bedroom his tired, oversensitive eye squinted. He couldn't even make his exhausted brain connect the dots to figure out why he now had to squint in a room he had left in darkness before his body reacted to what he saw in the room as soon as his eye adjusted.

The mug of blood shattered when it fell to the floor and pieces of the broken china spread across the room in the ever expanding pool of dark red blood.

* * *

Angel was awake by the break of dawn. Not prime time for him, true, but he never required very much sleep and his troubled mind wasn't helping matters either, relaxation-wise. He could already feel the sunlight behind the protective drapes. Yesterday's raining had seized, at least for now. It was a bright, shiny morning. For some people.

He lay on the bed with Buffy resting in his arms – both fully clothed, thank you very much – which was something they had made a habit of. For some reason it helped her sleep soundly and they both liked the intimacy of it. Not that he deserved that comfort, considering how big part of this mess was on his conscience. But he, just like all of them, needed to keep his head above the surface, figuratively speaking, in this messy ocean. And if a bit of comfort and sound rest could make both of them feel better, that would probably make them better fighters, and he was all for that. God knew they were going to need it.

He shifted slightly and could hear Buffy groaning softly in discontentment as she too woke up.

"Morning," he said softly.

"Mmmm, if you say so," she answered, still drowsy with sleep. She actually smiled at him and the sight of it warmed him like the morning sun – but better, because even if the burning metaphor was striking, the actual combustion part was definitely overrated. She glanced at the drapes and he knew that she could feel the sunlight too. "Hmmf, I'm thinking that the idea of meeting up with the guys before sunset wasn't great."

"Yeah, maybe." Angel was quiet for a moment, thinking about the gravity of the things they were meeting up with the others to discuss. End of the word… gateway to hell… it was never good. Not on this side of the fight, anyway. "But we should go," he said. "It's not that long left before the day of the ritual, and they need us there. After all…"

"I'm responsible for it," Buffy said simply. She slipped out of Angel's embrace and sat up in bed, her good mood vanished. He sighed.

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Maybe not," she murmured with her back turned. "But the fact that you didn't mean it doesn't make it any less true, does it?"

"You're not to blame for any of this. I hope one day you'll believe that…"

"Sorry to disappoint."

"…but, does it matter either way, now? We do what we can – what we have to, to sort this out. And we're a big part of the team, which is why they need us there."

"Sure. World in peril. Unspeakable evil – another one of those, because the world really needs more of them. Know all about it." She sighed, the weary look on her face making it look that it was she who was nearing her two hundred and fiftieth birthday.

"I'm tired of apocalypses. I'm not even sure that's the right way to conjugate the word, which is kind of annoying because you'd think that me, if anyone, would know. You know, for some people spring-time is actually looking forward to vacation and summer and planning for a sunny holiday somewhere-time."

"Right," Angel murmured. A beat of silence. "Not really sure about that last part though."

"Ah. Not really _fired_ with enthusiasm about that one, huh?" Buffy sighed quietly when her pun fell flat. Her puns were as dead as she was, these days.

"What about Spike?" she said, switching subject, if not in a direction Angel approved of, she could tell. She could swear he actually winced upon hearing the younger vampire's name. "Do you think he'll be of any help?" Angel sniffed.

"Maybe if it suits him at the time. Spike may not be a big fan of the world ending, but… he's not exactly trustworthy."

Buffy shrugged. "No, maybe not, but he has been once or twice… you know… helpful. And kept his word… to me, at least once." Her voice became very silent when she said the last words, because she knew that she was treading on what was, at least to her, sensitive ground. But if Angel thought so, he didn't show it. He shrugged.

"There were special circumstances then," he muttered. "The deal included getting to bash my head in. On a normal day I trust him about as much as… as much as Xander trusts me, I suppose."

"A fine team we make with all this distrust going around," Buffy sighed. "But that brings me to the next thing… Xander… I mean, you and Xander. Not all of that tension yesterday was about me. What happened between you too?" Angel looked uneasy.

"There was… a fight.. Of sorts. Nothing big… not important." Buffy crossed her arms over her chest.

"Nothing big? I was there you know, picked up on the end attraction. With the strangling, remember? What I don't know is how it came to that?"

Silence.

"See, this conversation thing? It involves actual… well – conversation. From _both_ parties."

Angel sighed. "He said some things very far out of line."

"Such as?"

"He… he said some things about us. Me and you. Mostly… me." Buffy sighed. She could have guessed.

"Let me guess. You hurt her, stay away from her or I'll stake you in your sleep? Dracula would be better for her than you?"

Angel grimaced. "Along the lines of that… for a start." He narrowed his eyes. "You know Dracula?" Buffy waved her hand dismissively.

"I've heard the speech, and I understand you. I mean – I, I understand his reasons too. He's… well, at least he _was_ one of my best friends. He doesn't like to see me hurt." Angel looked at her.

"If you should believe what he said, there was plenty of that… the hurt I mean. You know, before I left town." A beat of silence. "Was there?" Buffy sighed and shrugged, not completely at ease with the subject.

"Sure, there was hurt. When you first told me we would make it work and then just sit and decide for me that we _shouldn't_ try to make it work. And, um, of course there were hard, times… things…" Buffy faltered. "Look, can we not do this now? We're past it, no need to go through it all again. Really not in the mood for a trip down memory lane right now. We got enough painful stuff happening in the present, don't you think?"

"I need to know," Angel said, looking at Buffy. "Did I hurt you so much? Did you, um… cry over me more times than Giles has gotten knocked unconscious?" Buffy frowned.

"He said that? Hmm. Angel, look. It was – I, um..." she faltered. "I think I need to not have this conversation."

"Why?" Angel looked at her. "I've been told it's good, this thing they call 'open communication'." Buffy frowned.

"Really. _You_ think that." He shrugged uneasily and she went on. "Yeah, okay. I guess you're right. This thing, you and me? It wasn't just a schoolgirl crush, you know? It was… intense. There was the good, the really good… but also the bad… not to forget the really bad… and-and then, after… you came back…" after all this time, she still avoided mentioning Hell directly.

"And just when I thought things were working pretty well, you just start up the emotional slug fest again by treating me like some little kid who needed someone else to make decisions for her and you left. It was… I-I mean, that kind of relationship, and that kind of love, it doesn't just go awake like switching off a light, like – snap, time to end this, its… it's…

"A fire," Angel filled in. She thought about it for a second and nodded.

"Pretty much sums it up."

"And it burns you," Angel continued, musing, his gaze growing distant. "Burns you 'til you're nothing but ash… and then, with the cold wind…"

"Okay!" Buffy threw her hands up. "Very nice. Hello to Mr. Psycho Analysis. What did Hollywood _do_ to you?"

"I get it," he said. "I understand what you mean."

"Yeah. It's just… I thought that after everything you would at least stay in my life," she said, not managing very well to keep the bitter hint of accusation and hurt out of her voice.

"I thought so too, you know. That I would be… staying," he said quietly and they looked at each other, pained for a moment, both of them probably thinking the same thing.

He had done everything in his power, including giving up a shot at humanity to keep her safe. It was difficult not to think "what if"…

"Yeah, well," Buffy muttered. "Let's not reminisce any more. Past is past and it needs to stay... in the past. In the present, we have a hellgod to beat." Buffy was starting to walk out of the room when Angel spoke again.

"Buffy… We have to talk about that, too." Buffy turned and looked at him, unsure what was coming next. Angel looked at her carefully, considering whether to put off this unpleasant discussion… but he needed to talk to her about it as soon as possible, and he wasn't about to do it in front of the others.

"If we _can't_... beat her... or stop her from starting the ritual, if she does open the Hellmouth…" he trailed off and met her gaze, maybe just having the tiniest hope that after everything they had been through she would now understand and accept that sometimes sacrifices have to be made.

He was such an idiot.

"What?" she demanded, already knowing what he was hinting at.

"Only my blood will close the portal. That means I will have to sacrifice myself." Buffy shook her head, clearly not interested in discussing it rationally, or at all. Well, not that he couldn't relate. If the shoe was on the other foot...

"No. No, forget it. I won't let you. And what do you mean, portal? Hell_mouth_ remember, it's not exactly a swirly portal thingy like the mouth-vortex-whatever of Achilles …"

"Acathla," Angel reminded her patiently, if unnecessarily, knowing perfectly well that she would remember the name of that particular demon. "And that's just it; it will be a portal this time. Opening the Hellmouth isn't exactly done by waving your arms commandingly, you know. In this case the amulet of Proserpexa will use her energy to burn through the earth and create a mystical gateway of some kind which the sacrifices and the blood will open," he explained. She just shrugged, clearly not wanting to hear it.

"Well, if your blood closes the gate, then mine will too. And if it comes to that, if Glory opens the Hellmouth, then it's going to be my blood that has opened the door. I'll go."

"Buffy, it might be blood from your vein, but it's the fraction of it that is mine that makes all of it work. I-I'm not even sure your blood _will_ work anymore. Since you… drained yourself, we don't know if my blood is still in your system," he tried to reason.

"Angel, I'm not stupid. I've been a slayer for over five years, and even if I never got the handbook, I know this. The sire's blood is the last thing that stays in a newly turned vampire's body if it's harmed. My blood will work." Angel looked at her, and she stared back at him, her face set. "And if I have to I can always bite you again," she pouted.

"You're the hero," he said softly. "The slayer. You're the one that should be in this world." Buffy laughed. It wasn't an unfriendly chuckle. It was dejected, but still clearly telling him that she wasn't buying his arguments.

"Hero? I'm a hero? Excuse me, but where were you when my hero status suddenly degraded to ruthless mass murderer? Do you know how many people I killed?" Angel just looked her. "Well, do you? Sixty-three people. I just – killed them. Not just for feeding but for fun, for art, out of boredom. They're all dead because of me." She walked up to Angel and stood close to him as she spoke again, her voice vulnerable and hard at the same time. "Some hero, huh?"

"You wanna compare bad deeds, Buffy? I'll bury you."

Buffy threw her arms out in a frustrated gesture. She knew she couldn't argue with him there. She figured she would have to add _a lot _of zeroes to the end of her death-count to approach his, which stretched over hundreds of years. But that wasn't the point. This wasn't a balance scale of evil.

"I sacrificed you once," she said, straining to get the words out, annoying tears burning behind her eyelids. "Because… there wasn't a choice. I loved you so much, but still, I understood that it was either you or the whole world, and I made that decision. I WAS a hero, a Slayer. A champion of the human race, the chosen one – the whole nine yards." She inhaled a deep breath, to what point she didn't know, and turned away from Angel to hide the tears that welled over and trickled down her cheeks. She wiped them away. He had once again made her cry. He noted the irony.

"I don't have that anymore," she said tonelessly. "I'm not sure of many things anymore. I'm not even sure my friends will ever accept me again. I have no idea what I am, except that I'm not the same as I was three years ago. There's only one thing I'm sure of, one person left I know won't abandon me… no matter what." She faced Angel again. "Or at least, I thought I knew."

Moved by what she had said, Angel approached Buffy slowly, unsure whether she wanted to be touched. But when he embraced her she returned the hug and sobbed quietly into his chest. He led her to the couch and sat her down in his lap, still holding and hugging her. She seemed to fit so well there, but then, she had always been petite.

Buffy cried – she cried for the loss of her own human life, for ruining the life for so many other people, for her dead mother and sister and friends, for the fact that Xander was probably pursuing a lost cause by trying to connect with his dead and mad girlfriend and it was all her fault, because she was going to be stuck in this vampire persona forever and would therefore have to watch everyone she loved grow old and die – and lastly for the bitter realization that she might have to do it all alone, because Angel was prepared to sacrifice himself and leave her to her own misery for eternity.

Angel silently tried to comfort her for the same reasons. What was he supposed to do? If they couldn't stop Glory and the Hellmouth was opened, it would have to be closed again. Would Buffy be able to cope without him, or would she pull away from the friends she had left and disappear into the darkness? Either way this was his responsibility, not hers.

Of course, if he had been less of a nob he wouldn't have brought it up now, or at all. There was no point in suffering agonies for something that might not even come to pass. If it came to that, Buffy hadn't needed to know beforehand. But it seemed he always picked his moments for the heartbreaking conversations.

Finally the sobbing stopped, even if Buffy remained in her position, letting her head rest against Angel's chest. It was difficult not to think about the time when she had done exactly the same to listen to his beating heart – when they had been alive and happy, together in the sunshine. He knew she couldn't be thinking about it, because even if she knew of that day, she didn't remember any details. He wasn't sure which was worst – having those memories, for despite giving him pain they were wonderful memories, or not having them and be spared the pain but also not remembering anything of what that day had been like.

Some things never changed. No matter how many times he tried to do the right thing, it ended up hurting those around him.

The silence was interrupted by the loud beeping from Angel's cell phone and as per usual, he felt his mood change for every annoying signal. How he hated those things.

Buffy pulled away from him, and Angel made his way to the cupboard where the phone was. As many times before he imagined slamming it into the wall and taking pleasure, demonic pleasure when he watched the thing shatter into plastic and metallic shards...

But then again, he had his phone for a reason. A quick glance at the display told him that it was Giles calling, not from the Magic Box but from his home. There was no reason for Giles to be calling now, at this hour.

"What?" he said, or maybe _barked_, urgently into the receiver without considering that there might be a friendlier way to greet the caller. The person on the other end was silent for a moment.

"Angel?" came Giles' voice finally.

"Yeah, it's me. What is it?" he said, without adding a 'who died?' to the end of that, because in their world, you should never ask that question without being prepared for the answer.

Buffy turned her head and looked at Angel as he listened into the phone. His scowl seemed to grow for every word the person on the other end was saying.

"Yeah, we'll be there," he sad finally before he hung up. Buffy walked towards him.

"Who was that?" she asked hesitantly, because he looked even more somber than usual.

"That was Giles," Angel said tightly. "It's about Anya."


	68. COLLISION COURSE

* * *

**CHAPTER 68: COLLISION COURSE**

* * *

The _sight_ of it was what hit him first, even though there seemed to be a connection problem between his eye and his brain. Maybe basic motor function as well, because it seemed like ages before he could get his body to move. Then the _smell_ hit him and that seemed to jolt his body back to consciousness.

Act, don't react, dammit.

The room was filled with morning sunshine. Anya was in the middle of it, and she was smoking. He wasn't aware that he dropped the mug of blood as he lunged, or in his current condition rather _stumbled_ forward.

He had seen combustion before, but he couldn't remember it ever happening so quickly. Maybe it was because Anya was so newly turned, or because she was weak from lack of feeding. It didn't matter. What did matter was that the smoke and searing had already turned into vicious flames by the time he reached her. Her chest, face and arms were burning and she reacted to the pain, flailing and spinning to get away from the heat and thus feeding the flames with all the oxygen they could use and making matters much worse.

He tried to get close to her and got a burning arm smacked across the face for his efforts. He landed in a pool of blood and thought dimly that it hadn't felt like she hit him _that_ hard, before he realized that he lay in pig's blood, which he slipped in when he tried to get back up. He tried to call out to Faith, but no sound emitted from his throat. He had fallen heavily and could barely suck in a shallow breath.

Anya yelled. But so did something on the TV, and it was loud enough to drown out the sounds of her panic. It would take Faith a few seconds to realize what it was, and that would be too long. Damn her for leaving the TV on with the volume turned up. Damn his damned lungs for taking forever to recover from the fall. Damn the sun.

The stink of burning flesh and hair was horrible.

"Anya, get down!" he panted as he snatched one of the blankets that had covered the windows and threw it on her, and himself with it to try and smother the flames. But she wasn't being very cooperative and even in her weakened state she was much stronger than him. She screamed and flailed and he got pounced into the wall like a rag doll, but he still held on to her with strength he didn't know he had.

Faith must have heard by now.

Her bare legs and feet were now burning and when she danced around he managed to trip her out of the deadly sunlight. She fell into she shadows, but she was still on fire. He tried to lay himself on top of her to smother the flames but the heat was excruciating, and he had to close his eye.

Somewhere in the distance, through the roaring of the flames he heard feet running across the living room. He tried to reach out for another blanket on his bed and managed to grasp it just as he rolled off of Anya and landed on the sticky floor with a thud.

He could hear Faith say something but strangely he couldn't make out the words. Otherwise the room had become strangely quiet. There was no whimpering or moaning or crying. Shouldn't there have been? Faith must have managed to calm Anya.

When he slowly opened his eye, he couldn't see anything. The eye was filled with soot and grit and tears started flowing down his cheek from the irritation to it.

"Anya," he croaked, his mouth and throat filled with… something. He coughed and spat and managed, "where are you?"

"Xander…" Faith began, but he cut her off.

"Quickly, cover the windows. And, and you need to put her in the tub. Cold water for burns, right? You need to call someone for help, uh, Giles… or Willow."

"Xander," she said again and the way she said it sent a cold chill down his spine. Her voice was… soft, and he couldn't remember Faith ever addressing him, or anyone else for that matter, like that. He propped himself up on his hands and felt a disgusting gritty, sticky substance under his palms. It was blood and… sand?

And then, someone hit the pause button. The earth stopped turning. And so did his heart. At least it felt like it.

It wasn't grit, or sand in his eye and on the floor. It was ashes.

Anya's ashes.

"Oh god, no," were the only words he could form. The stink of blood and burning seemed to be everywhere, which of course was very true since he had rolled around in it. He could feel it soaking his hair and his eyelashes were caked with it. A wave of nausea hit him and he threw up. He had barely eaten, so there wasn't much to show for it, but he continued retching until he felt like his insides were going to be his outsides. He was sitting in Anya's ashes.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when the corner of his eye perceived some movement. It could have been an hour for all he knew, but it was probably not more than a few minutes. He was only vaguely aware that Faith grabbed him and pulled him to his feet whilst humorlessly muttering, "Dude, you're disgusting." He gasped in pain when she touched his scorched arms and hands. She led him to the couch and sat him down there. Seeing his staring gaze never leaving the bedroom she pulled the door closed before searching for the phone.

He stared down at his blood stained hands. He must look like a crazy killer or something, someone who had just torn someone apart with his bare hands. Of course, he probably also looked like he had _bathed_ in the blood, which was nearly true, and he supposed most killers didn't do that. Unless they were vampires. Or insane. Or both. Did Angel prefer his deaths messy or neat, he wondered? Or was it all the same to him? How would he rate this one? There was no body left, nothing to arrange for her relatives. Or no relatives, for that matter. There was probably no one other than him cared enough to be shocked at all.

So this probably wasn't a death to Angel's liking. If such a thing existed.

Then again, if he hadn't failed her over and over again, it wouldn't have ended like this. Angel's reasons for bringing death and pain all had to do with evil. His, they had to do with stupidity. He wasn't quite sure what was worst. At least, creatures of evil could be killed, generally speaking. Unless of course they had a whole deck of get out of jail free cards up their sleeve. But being stupid wasn't enough of a reason to slay someone. But maybe it should be.

This was all Angel's fault. And Buffy's fault. And Glory's. And his own. He wasn't sure who he wished vengeance upon the most or who he was going to take it out on… first.

* * *

Giles awoke from his restless sleep slumped over his desk, head resting in the book that lay opened before him when his alarm clock sounded. Or at least so he thought. Had he been in better shape, and more awake, he probably would have questioned whether he had really turned it on before he fell asleep over his research material and a half filled cup of tea – but as it was he simply threw his right arm out put a stop to the blasted noise.

It had been a long, hard, tiring day. Yet another day filled not only with things he didn't _want_ to do, but things all his instincts and experience told him were _wrong_. A motley crew they were, this band of buggered soldiers on whose shoulders the good of the world rested upon yet again. It didn't much matter why they were where they were – because they were born for it, because they were seeking redemption, trying to find their way or just simply helping out. Neither should it matter what they thought of each other; that some were lovers and some were mortal enemies. All that mattered was their efforts, and what they accomplished.

Of course in reality things weren't that simple. It _did_ matter and the status of their interrelationships affected the whole group and therefore also their efforts and accomplishments because they were all human – or close enough, in this case. In the middle of a war, one doesn't have the luxury of being a slave to one's passions.

And yet they all were. Always had been. Which must be why that thought made his skin crawl with the feeling of déjà vu.

For years now he had taken it upon himself to be a kind of father figure to several of them, and it had been his sworn responsibility to be a guardian for Buffy. He couldn't help but to feel that he had failed them all; failed to protect them, and failed to guide them.

He remembered his feelings from last autumn, feelings of being unneeded, redundant. He had even considered, more than considered – _planned_ on leaving, feeling confident that he had done all he could for Buffy and that he would leave her as strong, prepared and well-adjusted as she could ever be. She had her family, friends and boyfriend as anchor to the normal life she had always drawn strength from, and she was in as good shape as ever. He had been proud of how far she had gotten, and ready to leave her to it.

Of course, that was before all of this started.

He knew he probably couldn't have done much to stop it. Catastrophe just seemed to happen upon them – an occupational habit, one might say. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed her, failed all of them. He hadn't been able to guide and protect them as well as he should. He hadn't been able to save her. He had no solution to the coming crisis that may well end them all if they made a wrong move. If he couldn't save or even help those he had sworn to protect, what was he good for?

By the time he had gotten home, showered and brewed himself a kettle of strong tea it had been almost 2 AM. Wound up as he was, and too stubborn for his own good, despite his weariness and the wee hour, he thought surely he could manage an hour or so of reading. He couldn't have lasted more than ten minutes, tops, before the book became his pillow.

Still too drowsy to realize that the object he was smacking wasn't his alarm clock but the tea cup, he flinched and sat up straight when it fell to the floor with a clinking sound. Now awake, Giles grunted and got up, massaging his neck. If he had been sore and stiff last night it hadn't exactly been made any better by a night in this position. He grimaced upon seeing the fallen teacup and the puddle it had left on the desk. Carefully removing the old volumes out of harms way he noted that the god awful noise still hadn't seized. What on earth…?

Telephone. Right. He reached for his glasses, for they had fallen off sometime during the night, and started polishing the lenses as he walked over to the cordless phone. He would never get used to that thing and its jolly ring tones.

Glasses back on his nose and teacup decidedly ignored when he stepped over it, he grabbed the hand piece.

"Hello?"

The other end was silent. Giles looked around. The sun was up outside but it was still very early. He could think of a number of reasons why someone would feel the need to call him at this hour and not one of them was pleasant.

"Giles." That was Faith's voice, strangely… subdued. Again, there were a number of reasons why Faith might call. It would be a lie to call it a complete surprise. Something must have happened, much as he had thought that it might. It was why he had ordered the Slayer there overnight in the first place.

"Faith," he said. "What's the matter?"

"It's Anya," came the reply. "It's bad. "

"Bad how? Has she done something? Is anyone hurt?"

"Think sun, a blankie and a game of peek-a-boo gone wrong. Better bring the crew. And a mop."

* * *

For the sake of irony, by the time Angel and Buffy left the mansion the sky had turned into a thick and impenetrable steel gray. The clouds were heavy with unshed rain and according to the weather forecasts, it was going to stay that way at least for the rest of the day. The gray clouds that overcast the sky did so to the degree that Buffy and Angel could walk to the car without any protection what so ever.

They drove into town in silence. Buffy held her hands in her lap and kept her gaze fixed on them. Neither of them spoke. Buffy didn't know what to say and Angel figured he had said more than enough already.

Buffy thought about what Giles had said when he called, and how Xander must be feeling now. None of this should have happened. It was _all_ her fault, and not only the things she had done with her own hands.

It seemed all this pain and death stemmed from her love life. She had insisted on being together with someone she should never have been with, and she wasn't the only one who had paid for it. Her mom and her sister had paid the price. How come she hadn't considered her little sister the first time Angel lost his soul? She should have been a prime target and yet she couldn't remember him ever trying to lay a finger on her, or what they had done to prevent him from doing so. Maybe her memories were foggy. Those had been traumatic months, after all.

Her friends had also paid the price. Giles, Willow, Xander, they had managed the impossible and found people to love, good people that loved them back, which on a Hellmouth would be just about as probable as finding a functional ice machine in hell. But those people were all dead now. And so were a lot of other people – maybe nameless to her, if not faceless, at least not the ones she had killed herself, but just as valuable to their families as her friends was to her.

She blamed herself for all of those deaths, and because she knew Angel she knew that he must be feeling even worse. Even though everything they had shared and gone through together, she couldn't ever talk about these things with him. His guilt was bad enough as it was, and she was afraid it would drive him away. And that, she just couldn't handle. Not again. She had been _left_ so many times, and not just by Angel. It didn't much matter if the reason was death, or 'for her own good' or out of absolute free will, like her father who hadn't cared enough to stick around or even stay in contact. She had sent messages about Mom and Dawn, but he hadn't contacted her. She thought darkly that now there really was no reason for him to. Everybody who belonged to what used to be his whole family were now technically dead.

Whatever the reason it hurt just as badly every time, being left behind.

She was starting to see why a Slayer wasn't meant to have friends or family. Being close to her seemed to only have brought pain, suffering and death to those around her. Not that being a fulltime Slayer had helped Kendra, but at least she hadn't dragged any loved ones with her when she died. In fact, Kendra being enough of a friend to her to allow her emotions into the picture, give up her weapon and stay behind had been what killed her.

Without her friends and her family she would have just been another Slayer. One that fought and died and was replaced and forgotten. Right now it was hard not to think that it would have been for the better.

As they made their way up the stairs and through the halls, Buffy thought about the first time she had come here. Her life had been remotely normal by then. It hadn't been long before Angelus _and_ Angel came back into her life and changed it forever.

They had been all coupley back then, all of them. Willow had been happy with Tara and Xander with Anya. She had been with Riley. Life with Riley had been very different from life with Angel. It had been – convenient. That summed it up. Their relationship had lacked that borderline dangerous passion. It had also lacked a mortality rate and the end of the world. It wouldn't have worked out in the long run, she didn't think. Demon hunting aside, they had been on different paths. It had been a job to Riley. It was… or had been fate for her. That would inevitably have put them on collision course with each other sooner or later. She could have imagined Riley wanting to settle down somewhere in the future; nice little house, station wagon, a couple of kids, family dinners at his parents' ranch in Iowa... And even though she had always said she wanted a normal life that just wasn't something she had ever seen in her future.

But sure, a year ago death and vampirism hadn't really been on her agenda, either.

All that aside she had never wanted Riley to meet the tragic end that he did. Of course not. Again, if he hadn't been close to her he would have been alive today. It seemed Angel wasn't the only one who was cursed.

Buffy shuddered involuntarily when they stopped outside Xander's door. No need to delve into past misdeeds. There were plenty of present ones to choose from.

Angel knocked, and it didn't take long before it swung open and revealed Gunn. The smell of blood was overwhelming, but it wasn't human, and it didn't trigger the same instincts as human blood did. Besides the blood she smelled something she was horrified to be able to recognize as _panic_. And a strong sense of something she couldn't put her finger on. Someone from her line had died here, was that what she could feel?

"Hey," Gunn greeted. "We just got here." Buffy peeked over his shoulder and saw Xander and Willow in there. Xander sat on the couch, staring blankly into space. Willow was at his side caring for burn injuries on his hands.

Angel leaned forward ever so slightly to detect the invisible barrier and as expected, it was there.

"Um – invitation?" he said silently to Gunn, who nodded.

"Right." Gunn turned and exchanged a glance with Willow who nodded and patted Xander on the arm.

"Xander," she said softly. "Is it okay if Buffy and Angel comes in?" Xander seemed to physically flinch upon hearing those words. Angel thought bitterly that it was a good, proud day for his inner demon when only the mentioning of his name invoked such a reaction. Xander snapped his head up to glare at the intruders. But then the spark of hatred in his eye seemed to fade away, his shoulder slumped and his gaze fell to the floor.

"Okay," his voice sounded, barely audible to human ears. To someone else his voice would have sounded defeated, bur Angel wasn't so sure. The hatchet wasn't buried – more like hidden behind his back for the time being. Xander didn't trust him, and he had absolutely no reason to do so, Angel was the first to agree. But for the sake of the cause he hoped that they could be around each other without any further incidents at least until the world _didn't_ end. After that he would be glad never to see either Sunnydale or Xander Harris again.

Since 'okay' was apparently enough of a permission to enter they stepped inside. Angel skulked soundlessly across the room, the way he did, and slid into the bedroom where Giles and Wesley were while Buffy sat down uncomfortably as far away from Xander as she could get. She looked at Xander and Willow and thought of the time where she would have sat on his other side and comforted him in a crisis like this.

"Angel", Giles greeted neutrally. "Good you could come so quickly." Angel nodded and looked towards the window. The scene before him was a messy one and it was pretty obvious what had happened. The window, which had eastern exposure, was uncovered. Not a problem now, but a few hours ago? Anya's ashes were still spread on the floor, mixed with cold pig's blood and a broken mug.

"We should do something about this," Wesley said, indicating the disgusting mess.

"Yeah," Angel agreed. "I guess we should." He hadn't really known Anya, but he had known enough to see that she had deserved a better end than this. Other than that, though, he felt no real sorrow for her. Anya hadn't been an innocent girl with her whole life ahead of her. The first time around, her human life hadn't been taken from her, she had willingly agreed to be a vengeance demon and an immortal. She'd had over 1000 years of youth and strength to do whatever she wanted and even after she became mortal again she had never felt badly or suffered for the things she had done as a demon. She had lived a rich, long life. It was more than could be said for a lot of his victims.

He did wonder if facing the morning sun had been a conscious choice, or a mistake. Either way he thought it to be for the best. Though he wouldn't say that out loud in present company.

Angel glanced out the still uncovered window. It was still morning – there were still many hours until sunset, but if the weather remained this cloudy, he and Buffy could move around pretty well before that. He made his way back into the living room and remained in the shadows, half turned away from Xander, a gesture recognized by many species as eagerness to avoid confrontation, which was what he hoped that he managed to convey here. He was well aware of the boy's state of mind and that one word or gesture that could be interpreted wrong or as hostile could set him off, and they really didn't need it right now.

"Look," he began warily. He paused to consider his words as several sets of eyes turned to him. They were all gathered. Cordelia and Faith sat at the kitchen table. Gunn lingered close to the front door, clearly uncomfortable. He couldn't be too blunt or commanding. He was well aware that his position in the group was 'sort of' accepted out of need but definitely not appreciated by everyone... anyone?

"I know this isn't the best time to bring it up. A lot of people that should be with us today aren't…" he paused there, because it looked like Xander was going to say something – but whatever he was thinking never made it out of his mouth. Instead he made the impression if sinking further down in the couch. "But we still have one big issue ahead, which we still have no idea how to solve."

"This being the goddess of none-wisdom but plenty of warfare?" Cordelia filled in. "Well, you know what they say. The bigger they come…"

"The faster they rip your arms off and fling you off a cliff before they laugh in your face and open a gateway to hell," Faith interrupted.

"I think sarcasm works better when it's shorter," Cordelia cut in.

"The same goes for your sentences," Faith bit back. "In fact if you would just stick to 'yes', 'no', and my personal favorite 'huh?' I think we'd all be better for it."

"This is incredibly rich coming from Miss High school Dropout. Just let me know if you need help _spelling_ something."

Ignoring this exchange Angel continued. "As far as we know Glory has everything she needs for her ritual by now. Our best bet is to stop her from being able to perform it, somehow. If we could get our hands on of the ingredients, preferably one she can't replace, like the amulet of Proserpexa, that should do the trick. If we can't stop her…"

"Best hunker down for one hell of a fight?" Gunn asked.

"Pretty much," Angel nodded. "Though I think we can all agree we'd rather not have it come to that."

"Shouldn't we do something about the hellcat herself?" Gunn went on. "I mean, the chick is tight. If she wants to open the Hellmouth, she'll try again." Angel nodded.

"You're right. Buffy and I…" he trailed off, realizing that he had said too much. "..have a theory on that." Cordelia frowned.

"You have a theory on how to kill her, the supposedly indestructible one? And you haven't told us?" she shook her head.

"You wouldn't remember," Angel muttered. Cordelia's eyebrows seemed to disappear into her hairline.

"That's rich. Only I thought bad memory usually came with old age and let's take a minute to consider who is the eldest here. Plus I remember a time when we actually _discussed_ our plans before you went out and got yourself tortured or impaled or… actually, I don't."

"Good, then we're on the same page," he deadpanned. "Buffy and I will go look for Glory. Hopefully this theory turns out to be true and if it is, we might come back bearing good news."

"And if your theory fails you'll get to try Glory's sudden weight loss program. I hear she calls it her no-head-diet," Cordelia retorted. Angel sighed and glared at her. He realized he should be glad that she argued like this, because that if something meant that she still cared – and if she still cared, there might be a way to mend their friendship some day. But as it was she was only making things more difficult. He wanted out of here as soon as possible.

Off his look, she shrugged. "But fine, fine by me. Dibs on the car if you go all powdery."

Xander looked like someone had given him a small electric shock when Cordelia said that, and his gaze traveled to the bedroom floor.

"So where do we fit in? Need backup?" Faith asked.

"We can go together to Glory's apartment," Angel suggested. "If that's where she's set up odds are she will have the things for the ritual there."

"And if there's nothing there? Or even better, what if _she's_ there? You know I'm not one to pass up a good thwack fest, but going up in a fight with her without carrying something that has potential for some serious hurt seems kinda pointless."

Angel held back a sigh. Faith was usually always up for a fight – so when even she was questioning the point of it all, things were bad. Of course, she was also right in what she said.

"Let's just see what we find and go from there," he said. "First things first."


	69. LOOKERS

A/N: The following two chapters were originally just one, but it got long when I edited so I split it... and it turned into _two_ pretty long ones. To reward your patience I give you both! Thanks for reading and reviewing.

* * *

**CHAPTER 69: LOOKERS**

* * *

"It's kinda… quiet, no?" Faith said with a skeptic look at Glory's front door. It was an hour or so later and the four of them – Angel, Buffy, Faith and Gunn – led by Buffy since she was the only one who had been there before, had just arrived at Glory's apartment. Angel had a strange feeling as soon as they entered the hallway, and he suspected Buffy did too even though she didn't say anything. As far as he could tell the place was deserted. No one had been here for days.

He felt the doorknob tryingly – it was unlocked. So either this was a trap, or Glory was long gone. Angel moved inside soundlessly, knowing by experience to be prepared for the unexpected. But no attack came. There was no ambush and no booby traps.

"You sure this is the place, B?" Faith asked, looking around and frowning at the sight of the embellished apartment. She wondered if Glory had hired a decorator, but she had a hard time seeing that, which must mean that Ms. Hellgod found time between ass-kickings to keep her place looking like something from an interior design magazine. It seemed the Spartan look wasn't something all fighters went for. Then again, she had a hard time seeing Glory think of herself as a fighter.

But it was… somewhat disturbing. It wasn't that she didn't realize that some evils liked to live in style. It just seemed that this was something completely different to what they had been up against before. Musty caverns, abandoned warehouses or apartments – creepy mansions… all that seemed to fit the standard evildoer profile. But Glory was something different. And it might take something different to beat her.

"What? Yeah, sure I'm sure. I used the basement access over there to get out. This is it."

"Only it's not. It, I mean. Anymore at least," Faith said, moving around in search of clues but as far as she could tell, there were none.

"Yeah, seems we're late to the party," Gunn agreed, then looked at Angel. "Say, you're the bloodhound. Sniffin' anything?"

Angel grimaced at that. "No. Well – she's been here. Her scent is all over the place. But not recently, probably not for days."

"Her amphibian goons…" Buffy began hesitantly. "It stank of sewer wherever they went. And I – I don't think they've been here for a while either." The smelling thing had its uses, she had to admit. But she wouldn't have mentioned it if Giles or Willow… or Xander had been with them. It would have been a painful reminder of what she was now and would inevitably have led them to thinking about what that meant in a larger sense. But in present company she felt alright. Being around Faith actually felt okay. She didn't think they would ever be_ friends_; there was just too much baggage. But there was a degree of mutual, if unspoken, understanding. Buffy had taken the moral high ground around Faith in the past, she could admit... well, maybe not out loud. But it would be ridiculous to do that now, after everything. In many ways they were more equals now than they ever had been.

Faith passed her and Buffy was keenly aware of the steady thump-thumping sound the contracting muscle in her chest created. That too, was a painful reminder, and this one was telling her that they weren't equals in all manners.

"So does this mean we've run the bitch out of down? Bye-bye Hellmouth? She came, she menaced, no one bowed down?" Gunn said. Angel shook his head.

"No way. No one bowed down, but the only fight we've been in so far, she had us on our knees. She must have relocated."

"But why?" Buffy asked.

"She must have known there would be a good chance of us coming and looking for her… the amulet anyway. She may be practically indestructible, at least in her god-form, but she's not stupid either."

"What do you mean, 'in her god-form'?" Faith asked.

"I – um, just that it's her regenerative powers that beats us more than her strength," Angel improvised, knowing that it was no point in saying what he had really meant. She would just forget it. "Superstrong, that we can work around. But someone who heals most wounds instantly… anyway she's already got what she needs from us, so there is no reason for her to leave a target open for attack. She, on the other hand…"

"…knows where we are," Buffy filled in, understanding. "So she can distract us with running around and looking for her while she can just sit back and peek out from under her rock and attack whenever she feels like it." Angel nodded slightly and looked away.

She knew that Angel spoke from experience and now, so did she. She thought back to the frustrating months after the factory burnt down, after Jenny, when Angelus seemed to have gone up in smoke, however not literally even though there had been many dark nights when she had wished he had. She hadn't learned his new location until much later – that night when Spike came to her. Angelus had come and gone as he pleased and he had kept the upper hand by doing so. He had the advantage of knowing where she was most of the time while she on the other hand couldn't do much beyond patrolling and waiting for him to pop up – and when he did it would mostly be on his terms, not hers. Now Glory had that same advantage. Which was just another thing _not_ in their favor.

"On the plus side, this might mean that she's not happy about us knowing about her little shape-shifter trick. Which probably means that we've exploited a weakness," Angel argued.

"Uh… shape-shifter?" Faith asked.

"That's not what he said," Buffy cut in quickly. "He said, um, gate… miffer. With her apocalypse plans and all."

_That_ was lame.

"I think I know what I heard. And that doesn't make any sense."

"Get over it Faith. Your hearing has nothing against mine nowadays." Buffy offered a smug smile and continued before Faith could come up with an answer. "And you're probably right, Angel."

"Right about what?" Gunn frowned, his blank face now matching Faith's.

"About… um, never mind." Buffy shook her head. Neat trick, that, she thought. Presto-forgetto-spell. It would have come in handy more than once during her teenage years.

"So, Angel." Faith clapped her hands together. "Now what?"

"Buffy's right, we can spend every waking minute of the coming week looking for her and we might still not find her. We need to work this from every possible angle. We can't waste time by going door to door in one group. Gunn, I want you on the streets. I would suggest bringing Faith but it's an unnecessary risk considering her situation..."

"Right. Can't save the world in jail," Faith muttered and Buffy had a feeling of déjà vu.

"…and anyhow, you're only doing recon. See anything, _hear_ anything suspicious, you report back. Faith can do the same in the outer parts of town with less population. Buffy and I'll hit a few demon haunts; see if we can scare something up. I'll call the others, make sure they keep researching."

Faith nodded and started out the door.

"Do you really think we will find anything?" Buffy asked silently. Angel sighed.

"Something will turn up," he said. "Scum always floats to the surface."

* * *

Scum, or rather lather, _did_ float to the surface as Glory sat back in her bathtub and took a sip of champagne. Things were going her way, and they did so smoothly. Finally things were moving according to plan and it was about time, too. Twenty five _boring_ human years she had waited for this day and when she had finally caught up with those annoying monks last fall she had done so just to find that they had _hidden_ the Key – _her_ Key. And they had done so by transforming into – something, and stashing it - somewhere. The audacity. Painting the walls with their insides hadn't helped. Turning them completely inside out, once literally, hadn't helped. They had made it clear that they would rather die than give up the location of the Key. And so they had.

Sunnydale was the only lead she had, and so she had spent the better part of the winter rummaging through this – in its most literal form – _Godforsaken hellhole_. But it seemed her Key was wiped off the face of the earth. None of her tricks had worked. The sacrifices she had made, the things she had been through. She had found herself in scrubs several times. She had lost her minions. She had been to _Cleveland_.

But that was just blood under the bridge now. She might not have her Key, but nothing could threaten her ritual now. And at least some of it was thanks to good old Benji. She laughed to herself. That stupid flesh-made prison had gotten his own apartment a while back in a ridiculous attempt to feel like more of an individual. How silly of him. After all, he was only a shell, an unfortunate necessity that was to be shrugged off as soon as she found a way back to her own world.

The pulseless types and their little friends didn't know Ben's name, she was pretty sure, so she would be spared the annoyance of having them coming around and dragging their human dirt with them into her home. Well, not _her_ home exactly, but that was a technicality. With this being a human's home they might not even be able to cross the threshold, which was just to her liking. Dirty things like dogs and vampires should be kept outdoors at all times.

Glory stepped out of the bathtub and wrapped herself in a towel, grimacing at the bland colors of the interior. Unfortunately, Ben's apartment lacked all luxury worthy of a God. It was as boring as he was. But, again. Means to an end.

Her scaly pets, the Traklah's, they were safely hidden and would be so until the ritual was due. Glory had found an old worshipper in Sunnydale. Those were always good to have.

She remembered the times when worshippers were so plentiful that one could make them lay down on ones altar and slit their own throats in her name whilst sitting on a throne crafted from their unworthy bones in one of a thousand temples across the burning landscape, watching them do so just for kicks.

Nowadays she had to put the few she could find to a bit more useful work than that. This worshipper was supposed to aid her on the night she used the Key to open the walls back home, and might just be granted a ticket to come with her for his efforts – at least that was what he thought – but even if that plan was out he was still more than willing to do what he could for her. He had created a small reality flux in the old wreck of the high school which held the Hellmouth. The Traklah's were inside it – impossible to sense or track, just safely stashed away from nosy bloodsuckers and fiddling witches.

No one would meddle with the Hellmouth itself, she had made sure of that. When she first arrived a construction crew had been present. Apparently almost two years with a wrecked high school was enough even for a shitty town like this. She had sucked every single one of the men crazy-dry. They were all admitted to the Sunnydale cuckoo's nest and the school had been declared a dangerous, possibly contaminated area. The general idea was that some unhealthy chemicals or toxins exuded from the wreckage, possibly giving the workers permanent damages to their nerve systems. And that reptile-flesh like substance that seemed to be all over the place apparently required a specially trained bio-hazard team to be removed. With the amount of red tape involved in these things, it would take time. That suited her purposes just fine. A good hell gate opening ritual just couldn't be fully savored when being bothered by annoying human screams of agony and fear.

She had all the ingredients, except for the human victims that she hadn't collected yet. There was no need for that until later. Keeping them… _fresh_ for several days would take a lot of disgusting effort and that she wasn't going to put her manicured nails through when there was no need. And humans were much like cockroaches, after all. Vermin feeding off other vermin, breeding as such and found under every garbage bag. One might as well let them creep about until she had use for them, which wasn't quite yet.

For now she was satisfied sitting back, enjoying the knowledge that the hero types would currently be occupied with the demon groups invading the town, drawn by the energy from the about-ready-to-open Hellmouth and chasing their tails in their efforts to find a solution to their impending doom.

Of course, she still needed tasty brains every now and then. She certainly wasn't going to go out on the streets hunting like a raccoon rummaging through garbage… or even worse, like a _vampire_. And with no minions to fetch her tasty snacks, she would just have to do it the American way, she thought, glancing at the phonebook.

Order in.

* * *

"This is getting us nowhere." Frustration finally got the better of Xander when he slapped the book he had spent the last half hour reading, or appearing to read but rather stared at blankly, shut and threw it down on the table. He grimaced in pain as he did so. Most of his hands were bandaged and he had nearly lost it a dozen times today when his wrapped fingers were too clumsy to use and his palms hurt too much to be useful.

When Willow had told him for the third time that it was good that his burns hurt, because it meant that no nerves had been damaged, he had told her that that information did him absolutely no good and if it would take away the pain he would gladly have had his nerves burned. Then he felt bad about it. Willow was just trying to make him feel better and she didn't deserve being snapped at. Willow had gotten that guilty, worried look on her face, like she knew he wasn't really talking about the physical pain.

When they were alone Willow had told him about a forgetting spell she had read about. It was a deal with a crystal and some burning, the usual wickedy-wicca stuff. He hadn't really listened after 'erases all the memories of the thing that causes pain', because Xander didn't want to forget Anya or anything about her, even if it would take away his pain. His memories were all he had left of her, and his pain was the only thing left in this world that proved that she had ever existed. Pain was better than indifference. The feeling of loss was better than the feeling of nothing.

Another day had passed. It was early evening, just a few hours after sunset, and the gang had gathered back in the Magic Box after another fruitless day. Xander had been in the Magic Box all day with some of the others – talking, reading; needing to surround himself with people and thoughts to keep his mind off yesterday. He didn't want to go home. All he wanted to do there now was sleep and he could barely even do that, because even if Giles, Willow and Wesley had spend the better part of their morning yesterday scrubbing the bedroom the smell was still evident. And the memories…

There should be stuff to do, surrounding a death. Authorities and family to notify. Insurances. A funeral. But for Anya there would be none of those things. As a 1000 year old ex-demon she hadn't existed in the real world. Her human name was made up. There was no paperwork and definitely no family. And there was no… no _body_, so there was no need for police or coroners. For that he was glad. He had spent too much time in morgues.

But the whole thing left him feeling – anxious. Unfulfilled. Like he had things left to do, but he couldn't remember what it was. Not only because he had just lost the girl he loved, but because there seemed to be no evidence whatsoever that she had ever existed. There wasn't even a grave to go to. And there was no one to talk to about it. Willow, sure, but there were all busy trying to make sure the world didn't end right now. She, just like everybody else, had other stuff on her mind.

He wondered how, under these circumstances, he would be able to process it all. Because without processing, he couldn't see how he would ever be able to move on. He remembered when Buffy sent Angel to hell, supposedly – if sadly not really – killing him. She hadn't had a grave to go to, or friends to talk to, either. And she hadn't coped very well. He had given her a hard time about that – about not being able to cope. He remembered. He thought she had made a mess, cutting herself off, running away, acting like the world had ended when in reality just the opposite was true and leaving them all behind clueless. Now he could understand it better. He could understand the need to disappear and try to live another life, even a fabricated, fake one when the real one was too painful to endure. New name, new town, new job, new friends. Things to engage him – _her_, in something other than losses and pain. It didn't sound so bad.

Buffy would probably be the only one who could understand. But talking to her about it was out of the question.

The others had spent all day, and a good part of yesterday, searching for leads on where Glory was or any other information that could be of help. He hadn't really listened to the details, but the gist was that they hadn't found anything. Buffy and Angel had paid several demon haunts a visit but apparently the creatures they had asked either didn't know anything, or were more afraid of Glory than they were of the vampires, because they had divulged nothing.

The ones of them that weren't fit for scaring up clues, literally, or beating information out of creatures mostly made out of pus had stayed in the shop in a just as fruitless search of information.

Much to their confusion Angel had told them to look for something else as well – new Sunnydale residents within the last year who was male and around 25 years of age, give or take a few years. Now, that was a pretty vague description, but the really confusing part was what exactly this man had to do with Glory and why Angel and Buffy seemed to know but wouldn't tell anything about it?

When Spike had stopped by Buffy had told him about Glory's other identity, and a widely amused Spike had then spent the rest of the afternoon by testing the instant-forgetting spell, telling the gang about Ben over and over until Angel finally told him he wouldn't hesitate to give the younger vampire a scorching tan if he didn't stop wasting their time. Spike had departed at sunset, proclaiming that there were good beers to be had and that even the pissiest beer would make for better company than their lot.

"No, perhaps not, but we have to keep trying," Wesley reminded. In all truthfulness he felt about as dejected and frustrated as Xander, and the others for that matter, but what was the alternative? They couldn't just sit on their hands and do nothing when the ritual was drawing so near.

"Yeah, but how about we open the floor to new strategies," Xander continued, standing up.

"If you have any ideas then by all means," Angel said without looking at Xander.

"The one thing we know is where her holiness will be on the night in question, right? The old high school. So we need to find something that can take her out."

"Such as?" Faith said. "She's a god, remember? As in immortal?"

"Hold on," Gunn said, looking at Angel. "You said that this whole thing she's doing is just some big scheme to get back home."

"Yeah…"

"Meaning that she was kicked out, or banished or whatever from that dimension once. So…"

"The question is by whom, and how," Wesley filled in, frowning.

"Supposedly by other gods," Angel shrugged. "There are a lot of them throughout the thousands of existing dimensions and realities. Glory might not even be one of the more powerful ones."

"Yeah, but still indestructo-bitch, right? So how did the other gods succeed, did they manage to whup her, or weaken her, or what?" Cordelia said. "There must be something."

"Which would be helpful if we knew what it was," Willow grimaced. "If we only knew the name of her dimension, or something." She glanced at Giles in question.

"It's something to consider," he agreed. "I fear we haven't enough time, though."

"So what does that leave us? Say we find her, or we attack when she does the ritual, how do we beat her if the only thing we have time to do is spit our own blood in her face before we get really dead?" Faith said.

"She has a weakness," Angel said hesitantly, unsure whether it would do any good to tell them. "But we have to find her to have any chance of using it." Human weakness in its most literal form, he mused. He was pretty much convinced that the man sharing Glory's body would be mortal – and therefore killable. He wasn't as sure that the other would share this standpoint however, even if they _could_ remember.

Xander stared at him. "Yeah? Care to tell us about this weakness you haven't seen any reason to share with us before now?"

"She's gotta have a weakness – everyone does," he said vaguely, knowing very well that any direct information would just trigger the forgetting spell. "No one's unstoppable. Being a god doesn't change that."

"So it's just a theory? You don't know that she has a weakness that will magically save us all?" Xander prodded, taking a step towards Angel, tension instantly rising. The vampire looked sharply at him.

"It's more than a theory," Buffy said, stepping between him and Xander before she considered her move. "If we could, we would tell you, but we can't do that yet." Not until she had spoken did she stop to consider that not only had she spoken in front of the whole group, which was pretty rare these days, but she had also stepped in Xander's direct path without thinking first. And neither had felt that strange.

"Should just trust'em, Harris. Soul-lackage notwithstanding, these two are tight in the stopping the end of the world area," Faith said, straightforward as usual.

Xander glared distrustfully at Angel. If it had been just him, he wouldn't have gone for it. Seeing Angel's annoyed gaze, he might even have suggested that he could be playing for both teams, not as big with the good intentions as he said. But then, there was Buffy. Pale-lacking-a-heartbeat-and-turning-his-girlfriend-into-plus-self-being-a-vampire Buffy, but it was still her. He wasn't sure about the status of their relationship right now. There was a lot of… stuff. Things that would take time and space. But he didn't hate her, he couldn't, knowing that her soul was the same one he had been friends with for years. There was no love lost between him and Angel, to put it mildly – there had never been. But Buffy was good now; there was no arguing about it. And if she agreed with Angel, he would have to go with it… for now.

"Okay," he said in a softer tone. "But I still wonder; what do we do? Not to sound all soap opera, but – like sand through the hourglass, so passes the days of our lives. In this case that means the very _last_ days of our lives if we don't actually _do_ something. There must be someone we can fight?"

"Xander's right," Willow said. "I mean, I'm not the biggest fighter myself, but everything seemed easier when there was a big beastie to fight. The Master, the Judge, the Mayor, Adam or – um…" her gaze flickered towards Angel. "Well, you know… all the apocalypsey types – at least there has been someone to fight. We haven't had to look for them."

"Yeah, like that's a healthy attitude," Cordelia commented. "Personally, I like this apocalypse so far, I mean, fight wise. No slimy tentacles. No picking burned demon pieces from the floor. No snakes of _any_ kind and no _humorous_ vampires…"

"Can we get back to the point?" Buffy interrupted unusually sharply, not liking the direction Cordelia's rant was going.

"Fine – I'm just saying as long as we don't get attacked and hacked to pieces right here and now, this is the best apocalypse on record."

Cordelia had barely finished her sentence when she was interrupted by the devastating noise of wood breaking, and three demons came blasting through the door, ripping the bell from its hinges and sending debris flying in all directions.

The three demons were large and muscular with green skin and large ram-like horns. Angel immediately recognized them as Prio Motu's. After he had fought one last fall, he wasn't about to forget them. That one had been good, but he hadn't considered that it might be a fighter for their side before snapping its neck. These three, however, seemed to live up to what their research had told them that time. This was a violent and extremely strong killer.

He heard Faith shout something to Cordelia along the lines of 'thank you for the jinx, Cor' and then they were all on their feet. These creatures wouldn't waste any time so if they wanted to live, they couldn't either.

"Buffy, catch!" Angel threw Buffy an axe which she caught, charging one of the demons. Angel gave her a quick worried glance, remembering her last time in combat, before another one of the demons demanded his undivided attention.

Faith and Gunn cornered the third one. Giles grabbed a sword and Wesley a crossbow. Willow and Cordelia rushed aside and took cover behind the counter. From the corner of his eye Angel saw how Willow tried to drag Xander with them when she headed for cover but that he shrugged her hand off, picking up Gunn's bat from behind the counter and charging the demon Buffy was fighting. He attacked it from behind, drawing its attention away from her by hitting it repeatedly on the back and neck, but it didn't seem to do much good. If no one intervened he would probably end up getting himself killed, which seemed to be the usual story with Xander. Angel wondered whether he knew that and figured that he probably did. There was no mistaking these demons for any kind of creature a mere human, let alone an injured one should be taking on with virtually no real weapons at all.

Having thrown Buffy off balance for a second by kicking at her legs and making her twist away in pain the demon growled and spun around to deal with the annoyance at its back. It gave Buffy some time to regroup and, true to form it only took her a moment to regain her footing. With stone cold determination she swung the axe and embedded it in the demon's back, knowing despite being unfamiliar with this species, as soon as steel cleaved tissue and bone that the wound was fatal.

But just as she delivered the killing blow the demon grabbed Xander, a large clawed hand scratching his side. He cried out in pain, but the demon didn't have enough strength left to rip him in half as it surely would have liked to. Instead it turned back to Buffy, staggering and finally falling with one last grunt.

Buffy had gotten lucky – the demon had opened itself up for her to go for the kill, but to see the opening and have time to use it, her reflexes and strength must have gained. Angel was glad. It was just one more check in the recovery column.

He exchanged several blows with his demon, and it was strong, but it lacked imagination, the ability to improvise throughout the fight. It pretty much went through the same motions as the first Prio Motu he had fought. It was a foot-soldier type, not bred for its brains.

An arrow in the back from Wesley distracted the demon long enough to give Angel the upper hand. He grabbed the sword that Giles held and it wasn't another second before the Prio's head and body parted ways. The head actually flew several feet, knocked down the cash register, crashed through the glass counter top and splashed yellow-ish goo on the shelves behind it. Angel winced. Messy deaths were better for outdoors.

Working like a well-oiled team, Faith and Gunn killed the third one, sending it crashing into the bookcases behind it, effectively destroying some more interiors. Giles looked tired. A couple of years ago he had never reflected on how hard demon fighting was on the furnishings but since then he had gotten both his home and his store wrecked more times than he cared to think about.

"Buffy, you're hurt," Angel observed, giving her a worried glance when he saw her favoring one of her legs. Even though she grimaced in pain she waved her hand dismissively.

"It's fine. Still attached even. And as long as it is I figure with über healing powers, it'll be alright."

"Maybe you should rethink buying this store, Giles," Xander said in a strained voice, clutching at his side. "I mean, just compare the number of days it's actually been open for business with the number of evil fiends that has attacked it…" he took his hand away from the wound and saw that it was covered in dark blood. "…okay, ow." He grasped the countertop to avoid swaying off his feet.

"Xander!" Willow hurried up to him and Giles carefully parted the shreds of shirt to get a look at the wound.

"It's a nasty cut here, Xander. Rather profuse bleeding. It would probably be best if you got some medical attention… some stitches."

"Pfft, but that place is sick of me. And I'm of it," Xander protested weakly.

"We'll drive him to the hospital," Buffy offered quickly, before she could consider it further. As soon as she had she regretted it, because she could barely tear her gaze away from the pulsating wound as it was, and it wasn't a thrilling idea to have the smell of it fill the car and be that close to him for that long, but she couldn't take it back now. "We're heading out anyway… Right, Angel?" She gave him a look. _The_ look, one that women had given their men for eons, and turned out to be no different among vampires than among humans.

"Uh, right. Sure." Xander looked like he was about to say something, but Giles quickly settled the matter.

"All right then, yes, good."

"I'm coming with," Willow said and Buffy nodded in relief. Willow and Xander in the backseat. Buffy in front passenger seat. All good. Should be no strangeness there.

Stop it, she scolded herself. It's Willow and Xander. Friends. If they couldn't even do this how would things ever get any better?

Angel kept well out of the way as he removed some debris from the doorway to let Buffy, Willow and Xander through and kept a step behind as they exited. He suspected Xander was about as happy with this arrangement as he was and he could tell by the look on Buffy's face that she wasn't completely comfortable with it either. But it was good, this. Having Buffy together with her friends again. He didn't want her dependent on him – or _dependent_ at all, but there should at least be more people – actual _people_ – in her life.

He knew very well for himself how hard it was to keep connected and in touch with humanity without human contact.


	70. FINDERS

* * *

**CHAPTER 70: FINDERS**

* * *

"Come on, we can sit down over here." Angel motioned towards an empty bench in the waiting area. It was a slow night in the ER, for which he was grateful. He knew how Buffy felt about hospitals and having to sit in a waiting room filled with shocked, injured and bleeding people on top of everything else wouldn't have been something he wanted to put her through. Or himself, for that matter.

They had stayed with Willow and Xander until he was allowed into an exam room. Conversation had been… sparse. But there had been no gazes burning like crosses, no _actual_ crosses, and the car ride had passed smoothly, so he figured it had gone pretty well considering. The doctor was with Xander now and Willow had stayed with him. When they had left to give them their space Angel had heard Willow give the tired ER doctor a passionate story about a barbecue which involved juggling barbecue forks and, following someone's drunkenly suggestions, burning embers, thus explaining Xander's burns and cuts. Angel hadn't been in earshot long enough to hear the doctor's reaction to this. For that, he was also grateful.

Buffy limped slightly as they made their way across the hall and sat down on the bench. She had assured him that the injury sustained by the Prior Mutton demon was no big deal, and it wasn't. It was justhurt, not broken, or torn, or anything bad. Just as long as she didn't have to kick any more head-like-anvil demon asses tonight. She knew he worried about her, but he was sensible enough to refrain from saying anything further about it. He still looked worried, though, or maybe deep in thought was a more accurate description. Not that it was an unusual sight with Angel. She wondered if their lives, or unlives, would ever be uncomplicated again… no, scratch that. Uncomplicated for Buffy and Angel? That would be a _first_.

She had never liked hospitals. More than 'not liked' – violently disliked. Hated, even. It was something about the atmosphere, the feeling of death constantly lingering and lurking in the walls, ready to strike at any given moment. And this wasn't the horned, scaly or fanged kind of death. There was nothing tangible about it, nothing to fight. This was real, human, merciless and sometimes unavoidable death. The kind that all mortals, even the Slayer stood helpless against. Buffy hated being helpless. Of course she'd had her share of unnatural death in hospitals as well. That was even worse in her book. As if humanity wasn't cruel enough on its own. It really didn't need help from actual monsters.

She could smell death even though she wouldn't be able to explain exactly what the smell entailed. She had smelled enough death in her time, more or less literal. She had spent most of her nights the last five years in graveyards, after all. But it was different in hospitals. This was Death and All His Friends. No one was safe.

Demons, illness, old age, did it matter either way? People, as a whole, lived unremarkable lives and they died pretty much the same way. She wasn't diminishing them by thinking of it like that. It was the way it was – the way _humanity_ was. Short. Brutal. The ending, always the same. And it was ugly no matter how or when it happened. Let's face it. Most people do not pass away quietly in their sleep at age 108 surrounded by great-great grandchildren, without pain, without suffering, and without regrets feeling that their life has given them everything it possibly could have.

For a lot of people, all of those surrounding her, it seemed, the end was tragic, filled with pain, anguish and regret. Especially the latter had been very true for her. She had regrets, so many of them. Things she should have done, more, better. Lives she should have saved. She was the Chosen, and in the end she couldn't even protect her own family. She wasn't _worthy_ of humanity. But looking at it the way she just had, she wasn't sure she was missing out on much.

And yet, it filled her with a great feeling of sadness and loss that she was no longer a part of the cycle. The people around her would change, grow old and eventually die and since she would have no part in those changes, she didn't see how she could have any real part in their lives. It wasn't as if she envied the dying part, exactly. She figured she'd had her share. All died out. But she envied being a part of the world even if it was only by something as mundane as mortality and all the things it entailed.

Loneliness is about the scariest thing there is, Angel had told her once, and in life she had never comprehended the _full_ meaning of that. She had never known true loneliness. That summer in LA had been the closest she had gotten to being a nameless, faceless ghost. But the difference between that and true loneliness was that she had a home to go back to, even though she hadn't thought so at first. But she had never understood how it must be like to have nothing to go back to, no friends, no family and no ties to the world, not until now.

Angel had done this 'cursed demon damned to walk the earth for eternity' bit for over a century now. She wondered how he had coped. Was it only through cutting himself off and never allowing himself any part of the real world… was that all that was available to her as well?

There being two of them, did it change anything? She wasn't a naive little girl any more. She was past the stage when she thought that as long as they had each other; everything else would magically work out... when she thought that 'love conquered all'. Pfft. He himself had killed the last of that innocence when he left her, despite claiming that he had never loved anyone else more – or at all – and despite vowing only weeks earlier that he never would. He left her to her death and darkness, just to go and punish himself with his own death and darkness.

She wanted to ask him, if he could redo it, would he do the same thing again? She wouldn't ask, though, partly because it wouldn't change anything either way and partly because she was afraid of the pain the answer might stir up, however he did answer. Imagining that things, here, today, could have been different, and better, it would only hurt her. Reality was what it was and fantasies offered her no comfort.

She looked up at the bare white walls and was suddenly glad that she needed no air because in this place she wasn't sure she could have managed to breathe even if she had to.

Dawn had died in this place. She hadn't really been here since. It felt like a lifetime ago. And it was. Or two. But who kept track, anyway. Well, these people did, she thought as a white coated doctor strode past them, his face blank as he rushed on, carrying a chart and clearly heading somewhere. The breath of wind his swift movement caused smelled of things Buffy would rather not think too closely about. The hospital environment had a distinctive, ill-boding smell to it even for a human. With her heightened senses it was nearly unbearable.

She thought about the doctor, the nurses and all the other people that came to this place every day and spent a better part of their lives with keeping track of people. They saw them being born, growing up, getting sick, injured, growing old and finally dying. Surely no lack of that last one in a town like Sunnydale. With their charts and tests and beepy machines they kept track of heartbeats and vital statuses… and that other thing. She wondered how many people would be brought into the cold room tonight, the room where there were no heartbeats to monitor, only cold toes to tag. Then she wondered how many of those bodies would walk again and how many unfortunate morgue workers had been reduced to the first snack for newly risen vampires. Sunnydale had a habit of putting their dead in the ground unbelievably quickly, but not all of them made it six feet under before they rose, after all.

She had never been one of them, one of the bodies to be undressed and prodded and toe tagged and put on a gurney… and left in the dark. And she hadn't had a proper funeral, which was just fine since she wasn't properly dead. It would be creepy to find ones own headstone, anyway. She wondered if Angel'd had one, a funeral that was, but she wasn't going to ask and she suspected he wasn't going to volunteer the information. Maybe that would be a conversation for the long cold nights in thirty years when… when Willow was fifty, Giles was nearing eighty and she and Angel were still both the same age they were now. And that was a scary mental picture right there.

She thought about all the people in this town. Some had been born here. Some like the new Slayer and her mom and sister, had moved here. Unsuspecting fools. Many Sunnydale residents died before they reached adult age. Some, like a certain bubbly, incredibly annoying fourteen year old even died before they had entered the purgatory that was High School.

But all of them, young or old, would die if the Hellmouth was permanently open for business. The whole town would be taken, the people killed, probably eaten and everything else leveled with the ground. Sunnydale would be a demon high quarters. And that would only be the beginning. With an open Hellmouth hundreds, thousands, maybe millions of demons would eventually make their way out. It was unlikely that any human force would ever be big enough or strong enough to hold a line of defense even if they did have time to mobilize quickly enough. The demons would overrun the world in a matter of, who knew, weeks, probably. It would all be over by then.

She wondered idly how the planet would fare under demonic rule rather than human. Worse… or better? The demons had been in control of the planet once upon a time, she knew that. In the dawn of time, long before humans. _'Older than man, older than demons; the First Evil'_, she remembered Giles' words. Maybe this was how it was supposed to end, going back to the beginning. Humans eradicated by demons and then eventually, when the First Evil had drawn all the energy it could from demons warring and killing each other constantly, then what? A new big bang? Was that the destined end? It seemed so… petty.

Had the Slayer always been fated to fight a losing battle? Rather than saving the world, just putting off the inevitable little by little? It was a depressing thought. She was good at those.

"What should we do?" she said finally, feeling the need to speak to divert her mind. "I mean, if we can't stop Glory…"

"We will," Angel said calmly and she hoped he felt as sure as he sounded. "And if we can't, there are other ways to stop the ritual. Her pet goons for instance, should be difficult to hide for very long. They should turn up."

"The Trekkies, yeah, right." Angel glanced at her with a half-smile.

"Traklah's," he corrected kindly.

"Sure, those too. But if you ask me the Trekkies are more of an apocalypse sign than the actual demons."

"Probably right," Angel muttered and Buffy raised her eyebrows.

"You're kidding. Out of everything _this_ is a cultural reference that you understand?"

"I was around when it premiered, you know. Kind of hard to miss. The sixties were… slow."

"So you weren't a hippie then? Good to know." Buffy actually giggled at the image that popped into her head and for the first time today Angel felt like smiling himself. It was good to see her like this – smiling, joking, occasionally laughing. It didn't mean that anything was forgotten but it did mean that she had come far enough to think about something else now and then. The pain could occasionally be pushed far enough under the surface for her to feel hope and joy. And for that he was eternally grateful. The healing process had begun, and it seemed Buffy would get through this without losing _herself_ in the process.

"Hmm," Angel murmured, faking grumpiness. "Much like the trekkies the demons inside the Hellmouth will overrun the planet if it opens, but with a little deadlier outcome. So I think I'll worry more about them."

"Well, they won't get out," Buffy said smoothly, but she was unable to hide the tension in her voice from him. "'Cause we will stop them, like you said. We always do."

"Yeah, we'll see," Angel said simply. He knew that Buffy would never accept the notion of him possibly having to sacrificing himself and leaving her behind… again. But if it came to that, she would get through it, just like she always did. Because she had to.

Buffy stood up and turned to him. "No, we won't see, we'll…" She trailed off, staring at something in the corridor. No, not something – some_one_. "That's him."

"Who?" Angel got up and looked in the same direction.

"That's him. He – the guy. Glory!"

"Are you sure?" Angel frowned. The man in question was very ordinary and plain looking. Nothing anyone would give a second look to, really. He would have expected something more from the human half of Glorificus. A feeling, a sensation that would set off his supernatural senses somehow, something to let on that this human was much more than met the eye. But there wasn't. And he trusted Buffy's word completely. She wouldn't forget.

"Oh yeah."

The brown haired man dressed in hospital scrubs sauntered past the waiting room, heading down the hall. This was too good to be true, or was it? Maybe the universe had just cut them a rare break. Not many of those around.

Taking full advantage of their supernatural stealth they followed the guy into the hall, and the lack of a speeding heartbeat told them that he knew nothing. Unsure how this confrontation would play out they waited until no other people were present before making their move. That happened when he stopped at a utility closet and fiddled with the keys. It was Angel that grabbed him from behind, a firm hand over his throat turning him around to face them and cutting out the sound that would surely have emitted from his mouth otherwise. Instinctively he tried to writhe free but he was firmly kept in place and slammed back against the door for his efforts.

"What the…?" the man gasped as Angel grabbed him in the hook of his arm.

"Keep quiet," he hissed in his ear, opening the door to the utility closet and flinging him inside with no more force than a flick of his wrist. This was a human alright, with human strength, or rather lack of. No wonder Glory wanted to keep this a secret.

The man, breathing hard, slammed against the shelves in the small space and it took him a moment to regain his footing. Buffy stepped in behind Angel, flicked on the lights and closed the door.

"So," Angel said coolly. "Glory's… better half, or what does she call you? I've heard of gods using cloaks of invisibility, but cloaks of humanity? I don't know, doesn't seem like the most awe invoking trick to me."

"What are you talking about? How do you know… You." When his eyes adjusted to the bright florescent light he saw Buffy. He wasn't likely to forget that face. And it wasn't so very hard to figure out who the other vampire was.

"Yeah, _me_," Buffy agreed, offering a sweet smile that sent chills down Ben's back. Generally speaking when a beautiful girl smiled at him like that, it was a good day. But when the girl in question had fangs… "Remember me?"

"This guy is human. _Just_ human, no extras," Angel said, never taking his gaze off of Ben, who wished fervently that he would. "That's a nifty little spell your god's going there. Now would be a good time to offer some information."

"I don't… It's not a spell. _I'm_ not a spell. And she – she's _not_ my god. Look, I don't think you understand how all this works…"

"So tell us. No lies," _if you know what's good for you_, he didn't actually say the second part of the sentence but the look on his face and his slight smile spoke for him. Ben swallowed hard. _Vampires._

"I – um, my name is Ben, I'm a nurse here. When Glory was banished from her dimension, she was reborn with a flaw; she has to coexist with a human. Me. She may be a god, but she can't live without me. At least, not until she exits this dimension and goes back to her world."

"What happens when she does?" Buffy asked.

"I'll die. She'll be freed from her human curse, and I'll be disposed of. Look, I'm not sure what you want, but if you want to stop her from whatever she's planning, I'm right there with you. You can trust that, I mean, there's not really any personal gain for me here."

"What's up with the spell that makes everyone forget about your little split personality?" Angel asked, clearly not interested in Ben's feeble attempts to convince them of his good intentions. As far as he knew, his survival may well depend on what he said. People had a tendency to say whatever they thought the other party wanted to hear in that position. He should know.

"I'm not sure myself, but it's supposed to keep us separated. I don't know what happens when she's surfaces, she doesn't know what happens when I'm in control… And no one else is supposed to know the truth. But apparently it's not working very well on vampire's," he noted.

"Hmm. That probably means you really are the vulnerability we've been searching for in Glory. That's good to know." Angel saw the terror on Ben's face when the full meaning of his words sank in. He felt his shudder, heard his heartbeat speed up – all the usual reactions in a human who had just realized his life was coming to an end – and a part of him relished it. Another part was horrified that he could so easily accept the idea of murdering a human even it was for the greater good. Could evil deeds really be justified so easily? Was it alright to be a monster if it was a good reason for it?

The prospect of it gave him no joy, but didn't feel as wrong as it should have done to someone who was supposed to be a little more than a demon. But the part of him that argued that and thought that the human man needed to be spared on account of being innocent and having no part in his twin sisters plans had no place here and now, because that part of him couldn't make the hard decisions. If he could draw strength from his darkness to be able to do things that were needed to in order to save the world, then surely there was some point to it.

"Angel…" Buffy said urgently, grabbing his arm and pulling him back a step. "Angel, if he's telling the truth, he's an innocent in this."

Of course, she was right. Ben was a human man with a human soul, and as far as they knew no great evils on his conscience. He had no control over what Glory had done or would do. It wasn't right to blame him. And it wasn't right to kill him to stop Glory. But if Glory succeeded and if she opened the Hellmouth, the whole world would be at stake. Was _that_ right? For all he knew, she could kill them all before either he or Buffy had the chance to make the heroic sacrifice. He had his chance here and now. Never give up the advantage, it was his own lesson.

"It will be quick," he said silently without looking at Buffy and his voice held a hint of sadness, perhaps for the fact that hers hadn't been.

He had seen it thousands of times before, people realizing that they were going to die. The reactions varied. From screaming and fighting back to quietly weeping or begging – he had pretty much seen it all. He used to like to study people in their last moments of life. He found it – interesting. Exhilarating. He used to think that it said a lot about the person, what they were really made of. Of course, when he was done with them, it didn't really matter anymore.

Just as he slipped his hands into the accustomed position, clutching Ben's head, telling himself that he was one of the lucky ones – it would be over quickly for him… how many people had he killed like this now... Buffy shoved him hard to the side. Hard.

"Angel, NO!" Angel staggered to the side. There was a lot of strength behind that push, more than he had felt from her in a long time. This was important to her.

Of course it was. She had spent years devoting her life to protecting humanity from _things like him_. She was a true champion of humanity and thus, every life counted for her. _He_ was the monster. He never wanted her to see this side of him – but then, he never wanted her dead by his hand, either. It was a little late to try to shield her from his dark side.

"Buffy," he said wearily. "You have to try to understand. Sometimes you have to make choices. Hard choices – ones that aren't righteous or pleasant. The kind of choices that other people can't make. You already know that. This is not about right or wrong, it's about getting through this with as few casualties as possible."

"Yes! I know that. God, don't even say you don't think I get that," she said with heat. "But this is not the way. We _don't_ murder people. We can bring him with us. Exorcise Glory from him, or, or contain him until Glory can't do her ritual anymore…"

"How do you expect that to work? If Glory reemerges we won't be able to hold on to her. In fact, the odds are she would use the opportunity to kill us all."

Buffy shook her head franticly, shoving her fingers through her hair, on the edge of panic. Getting closer and closer to tears of frustration and desperation as she comprehended the width of what they were doing. This – what they were doing, standing here together, about to kill an innocent person, she couldn't handle it.

Angel realized that this wasn't just about Ben's life. Despite his female alter ego he was human, and as far as she was concerned, just as innocent as any other of her victims. _Their_ victims. The situation was much too reminiscent of what they had done before – when they were both soulless and killing for the fun of it, and she couldn't handle a repeat performance. He was an _idiot_ for bringing her into this. +

No news there.

"Buffy…" he started softly. "You don't have to be a part of this, you can…"

"No," she muttered, still panicking, backing away from him. "We can't, not this way."

Before they had time to elaborate on how to handle the situation they were interrupted by Ben, who sank to his knees with a whimper.

"Aah!" Ben wasn't sure if he should tell them to get away – they seemed to be do-gooders after all, or laugh happily at the fact that his intended murderers were soon to be crushed by his less than nice sister. What the hell. The guy had been a second away from snapping his neck, why should he do anything to save him from being splattered all over the closet? Screw him. He gave in, and his manly features morphed into Glory's feminine.

She looked around, the confusion in her eyes soon fading and she leered at them.

"Looky here. The Supervamp and the Supertramp having a little gathering with Gentle Ben. The three of you should join a freakshow together. Oh well… No more of that."

Unarmed and trapped with Buffy injured, it was clear that this was the worst possible time and place for a showdown with Glory. Superpowers or not, they would have no chance to take her down like this. She was indestructible after all, much more so than any vampire. And she was strong enough to whip them both. As undignifying as it was there was really only one thing for the undead to do, if they wanted to live long enough to have the option of meeting her in a fight where they actually stood a chance of beating her.

Run.


	71. UNGODLY BUSINESS

**CHAPTER 71: UNGODLY BUSINESS**

Karmic pay-off, Angel thought as he and Buffy swiftly made their way down the hall with the sound of Glory's laughter echoing behind them. The hunter becomes the prey. The sadistic bastard is forced to run from an even more powerful sadistic bastard. Oh, the poetry.

When they stopped at the exam room where Xander was being treated Angel had Buffy's back while she opened the door. But Glory was nowhere to be seen. Angel knew for a fact that they hadn't outrun her. Such a thing wouldn't be possible even with vampire speed. This only left the uncomfortable question of when and where she would pop up next. He feared they would soon have the answer.

Buffy breathed a sigh of relief when she flung open the door and saw that Xander and Willow were alone in the room, no doctors or nurses present. Ergo, no one to explain anything to, and no unfortunate innocents to be the ones to pay if Glory stopped by.

Xander was just putting on his jacket when the door swung open and he and Willow looked up in alarm.

"Leaving, leaving NOW!" was the only thing Buffy said.

"Glory," Angel filled in, seeing their bewildered faces. No one needed say anything further. And if the explanation wasn't enough, seeing Angel and Buffy head for the hills instead of staying and fight made them realize the severity of the situation.

"Hurry," Buffy said as she urged them down the hall. She saw Xander wincing in pain as he moved.

It could have been all over, she thought guiltily. Glory could have been dead now and everyone in this hospital wouldn't be at risk. Xander and Willow wouldn't be running for their lives along with them. The apocalypse would have been called off. But oh, no. Her so called reverence for human life may be what would damn them all.

Still no sign of Glory, Angel noted as they rushed towards the elevators and stairways. Buffy glanced at him and nodded when he indicated the stairs. Elevators may be quicker and better for Xander's sake, but it would be too risky. Elevators could be tampered with and if Glory had her mind set on that they would all be trapped and helpless.

When Angel saw the cleaning cart, it was too late to dodge it even for someone with his reflexes. Silently cursing this ironic déjà vu he almost, but not quite managed to deflect the moving object with his arms but he didn't succeed completely and flew over it, crashing to the floor while a collection of bottles and cleaning products rained over him. He saw Glory moving, _gliding_ out from her hiding place around the corner where she had been concealed, wearing a satisfied smirk on her face and he saw Buffy advancing towards her.

"Go on," Angel all but growled as he leapt to his feet, very consciously stepping in Buffy's path. "I'll be right behind you."

"No," Buffy protested to his utter lack of surprise – he wouldn't have left _her_ after all, if the shoe had been on the other foot, and on another day he wouldn't even have asked her to, but she was injured, and Willow and Xander's only shot at survival would be if someone made sure they got out of the building safely. It would be easier for him to make a timely getaway if he didn't have to worry about them. He shot her a pleading look.

"Please, Buffy," he said. "You're hurt. Just get them to safety." Hesitantly she gave a short not and disappeared down the stairwell with Xander and Willow.

"Quite a show," Glory laughed, ignoring the fleeing trio. They weren't important right now. "Know what they call things like you? Falling angels."

"You know, I already have a strong little blonde that puns and kills things. Don't need another one."

"I'm hurt! Would you rather I just keep my peace when I rip your heart out? 'Cause I can do that. I'll be real nice and show you."

With that, she lunged forward. Learning from the first fight he had with her, Angel tried to block as many moves as possible. The problem was obvious; every blow from her that connected had the potential of doing him a lot more damage than vice versa, so he had to avoid her actually getting her hands on him as best he could.

The third punch connected with his head and for a second Angel saw two of everything, but experience, and some luck, still allowed him to grab one of her four arms when she struck out again and he managed to swing her around and smack her into the wall, which gave an ominous crack. He winced, and not just from the blow. This might be Sunnydale, but a fight like this in the middle of a hospital? No way would it go unnoticed.

Glory seemed more annoyed than anything else when she pushed him away.

"Lucky for you I'm dressed for the occasion, vampire," she snarled, smoothing out her scrubs. "Blood on silk? That's out."

"Trade fashion tips with someone else," Angel retorted as he kicked her back, and then shrugged. "But you're right, I'll give you that."

Strength aside she was a lot lighter than him so when she advanced again he grabbed her by the neck and managed to fling her around and crash her head through the glass surrounding a fire extinguisher on the wall. Taking full advantage of the tenth of a second she was dazed he yanked it from its place and smacked Glory over the head with it. Once, twice and the third time in the chin, snapping her head back.

The skull on a human would have been crushed with the first blow and the treatment would have left a lot of stronger demons dead or dying as well but Glory just staggered a few steps and shook it of before grabbing the fire-extinguisher from him, swinging it like a bat and smacking him with it, sending him crashing into the wall across the hall.

He saw that the fire extinguisher was actually dented when she moved closer to him again, and in his dazed state he almost brought a hand to his head to feel whatever such a blow had done to his skull, but he caught himself before he actually did it. He wasn't paralyzed, or dust, so he figured it couldn't be that bad. Luckily, a possibly cracked skull wouldn't kill a vampire.

Getting back to his feet he saw two security guards and a police officer rushing down the hall. Knowing good and well that a cracked skull would indeed kill a human, Angel realized he would have to end this quickly if he didn't want them all to get killed.

Scanning the area looking for things he could use to his advantage he spotted a sign on one of the elevators – "out of order". Perfect. Glory had yanked an axe from the same place as the fire extinguisher and headed for him, but Angel moved quickly to the elevator and pulled the doors open.

The elevator wasn't there – he could spot it further down. A _long_ way down. Glory swung the axe above her head, aiming at Angel's neck and brought it down. Only his good reflexes saved him from a messy end as he avoided decapitation by throwing himself to the side and managing to grab the handle of the axe. Glory's balance was off, just for a second, but it was enough. He yanked at the axe hard and she pulled back instinctively. At that point he let go and had the satisfaction of hearing her cursing at him as she fell down the elevator shaft.

He had already pulled the doors together when he heard her slam into the elevator further down. It wasn't much, but he wasn't dead...er. And at least it would take her a few seconds to get up from there. The few seconds he would need to…

"Freeze!"

…get away.

"Put your hands where I can see them!" the policeman yelled with his gun pointed at his heart. Of course the officer was only doing what he thought was right in the interest of the safety of the public. As far as he was concerned he had just witnessed a dangerous criminal throw a nurse down the elevator shaft to a certain death. Not really inciting for him to be forthcoming with the benefit of a doubt.

But of course Angel had no intention of sticking around. With adrenaline rushing, he hardly even felt the sting from a bullet hitting him in the chest. Still, one bullet in the thorax was plenty as far as he was concerned, so he opted for a nearby window for his exit rather than the stairs. Crashing through the window, leaving behind dumbfounded officers of the law, he could only hope he would land reasonably well. What were the odds of there being any picket fences outside a hospital, anywat?

The odds were on his side, as it turned out, as only pavement offered him a hard, but non-unlife threatening landing. He brushed himself off as he got up. As far as falling went, it wasn't too bad. Sunnydale General had nothing against some of LA's skyscrapers.

He spotted Buffy pacing at, and Willow and Xander sitting in, his car down the parking lot and hurried over there.

"'Right behind you', huh?" Buffy asked, trying to make her tone light, but her expression betrayed her and her worried eyes were immediately drawn to the wound and the blood now soaking through his shirt.

"Give or take a few… complications." He gave her a brief reassuring smile as they got in the car.

"Give it up for Action Man," Xander commented in a tone that Angel wasn't quite sure if it was snide or serious.

"Glory fights with guns now?" Buffy asked, eying him closely.

"No. That was a courtesy of the Sunnydale police force." Buffy widened her eyes.

"What have I told you about fighting in hospitals," Xander said in a plucky tone.

"And Glory?" Willow asked.

"No bullets for Glory. But she's probably climbing up from the elevator shaft well right now, so we should get going. I'm thinking enough excitement for one day…"

"Maybe we should stop by the Magic Box before we go home," Buffy said as Angel pulled the car out of the parking space. "I know it's late, but we should tell them that we ran into the Queen of Charm." Buffy turned to Xander and Willow and hesitated only a second before looking them both in the eye.

"Then we'll drive you guys home."

--

"Guess I'm Carpenter Guy tomorrow," Xander noted as he avoided being skewered by a sharp piece of wood on the way in.

"Nuh-uh. No way you are," Willow said, hugging his shoulder. "Nothing but rest for Carpenter Guy for a good long while. You can be Instruction Guy and On-looker Guy, and I'll be Carpenter Girl."

"Willow, you can't tell a pincers from a wrench," Xander reminded kindly. Confusion painted Willow's face for a moment.

"There is a difference? Anyhow, that would demonstrate the need for Instruction Guy. Don't worry about the heavy lifting." She flexed her biceps with a smile. "I always did beat you at arm wrestling. And the others could help, like maybe Cordelia…"

"Ha!" she huffed. "In no way will I be Carpenter Girl. If you have super beings on deck, take advantage. That is the motto I live by."

"…or I could be Carpenter Wicca. Could be fun. Floating hammer?"

"Did the hospital trip go alright?" Giles asked tiredly, interrupting this most stimulating exchange. Stimulating, that was, for someone who hadn't had another very long and tiring day, thereby excluding the lot of them. He had spent the last hour trying to salvage a few precious, ancient volumes that had landed in Prio Motu blood. At some point Spike had arrived, made tasteless comments, whined about missing all the fun and then helped Faith and Gunn to move the demon carcasses to the back of Gunn's truck for later disposal in the desert, outside city limits.

"Angel, what happened?" Faith asked. "Someone tie you to the coupling hook and let you run behind the car?" she smirked.

"Glory made an appearance," Angel revealed with a sigh, getting everyone's attention.

"Good heavens. Glory, at the hospital?" Wesley asked. "Why on earth would she go there?"

"Um, well, he – she… we don't know why," Buffy admitted. The spell thing was really starting to annoy her. "And, um, we just thought you should know. I don't think she'll come after us here. We're not enough of a threat to her," she grimaced. "But still, be careful."

"So how'd it go down?" Gunn asked, eyeing Angel. "You all sit down for a nice cup of coffee?"

"Well, the party got all busted when Angel got shot by a cop and dropped out the window while the rest of us skedaddled," Xander shrugged. "As far as encounters will hellgods go, I can't complain about the outcome. At least she ended up at the bottom of an elevator shaft."

"Bitty hellgod whip you around nice, eh?" Spike grinned from his position behind the counter.

"Why are you even here? Didn't you leave, or was that just a dream?" Angel asked, tired and annoyed.

"You know what they say about strays," Faith cut in. "Start feedin' em and they're bound to come back."

"Not like there's a lot to do in this bloody crap town. Nothing on the telly. And suppose just maybe I wanna spend some time with my _family_," Spike smirked. "It's… inspirational." Angel shot him a dark look.

"Alright," Giles interrupted. "Let's just be glad that you all managed to get away without any casualties, shall we? Considering the adversary, it's not a small victory to claim."

"So, did she have that weakness you've been going on about?" Cordelia asked without enthusiasm, not even looking up.

"Yeah, she did," Angel answered carefully. This, however, was enough to get Cordelia's attention and interest. She looked up and frowned.

"She did. By any chance did you happen to, say, use it?"

Angel glanced briefly at Buffy, who lowered her gaze. "No."

Cordelia sighed. "I'm used to the monosyllabic answers, but this is ridiculous. It's late, we're tired. You're bleeding on Giles' floor and you're not even the first one tonight. I think he's actually had more bleeders than paying customers in this store which is kinda sad. So how about you save me the trouble of having to drag the answers out of you and tell us – why?"

"It's not that simple, as it turns out," Angel sighed. "We – I didn't have a chance to. This time." Buffy suddenly seemed very interested in her shoes.

"Mortal Boy not stick around long enough to do your thing, or have you permanently lost whatever little balls you had?" Spike sneered.

"Mortal Boy?" Cordelia looked from one vampire to another.

"Thank you Spike, very helpful," Angel hissed.

"Just what I do. Righting wrongs, saving lives, stopping the end of the world, at least when I'm not to busy causing it, it's what I use my pathetic existence fo…"

"Why don't you get lost? I'll call you when I need sardonic running commentary. Right around never."

"Grouchy. Little tense tonight, are we? You need to get laid, mate."

Spike's comments might seem offhand, but Angel knew him well enough to know that there was thought behind each sentence. Even though nothing had yet been said in front of them he knew that the intimacy between him and Buffy was a growing concern in the group. Given the last year he couldn't even blame them. And so there wasn't a better thing Spike could say to raise tension among them.

"Like Cordelia said," Angel said evenly, "it's late. We all need rest. So why don't we reconvene this tomorrow." He gave Spike a sharp glance. "Those of us who actually bring anything useful to the table, that is."

--

Spike was kicking an empty beer can in front of him as he walked down the street, heading back home to his crypt. Useless, yes. But this night hadn't offered a lot in the way of things he could release his pent up frustration on. It wasn't long until dawn so most respectable demons were tucked into their beddy-byes by now.

After his wank-off grandsire had proclaimed that all should go home and rest Spike had spent a few hours like this – not doing much of anything. Walking, killing time. Sneaking into a 7-11 and stealing a few packs of smokes, taking a long good look at the tasty snacks behind the counter – this, of course, not referring to the baked goods, feeling his fangs itch and sighing as a pounding headache developed, reminding him of what he no longer was.

Now there wasn't much left to do besides going home and try to sleep for a bit. But frustrated thoughts were pulling him apart inside side and the unresolved frustration was turning more and more into anger the longer he walked.

He wasn't sure why he was putting himself through this. Going there every day, spending time around them. Around _him_. And _her_. It had been bad enough last year, before Angel returned with his chums and newfound commandant attitude.

Not that it was new to him, of course. He had lived with the right bastard for years back in the day and months in present time, granted that was his soulless persona, but he wasn't sure which was worst anymore. Soul or not he had always been full of himself, so sure he got to call the shots and order people around.

And he had _her_. He had always been bloody sure he had first dibs on the girls, too. It had always bugged the hell out of Spike, but he had been put in his place early on and even though he would like to think that the way Angelus had shaped him back then had nothing to do with what he had become or what he was now, it would be a lie.

Even if he would never admit, _she_ was a big reason to why he hung around. He didn't care if his stuck-up grandsire made it through the coming fight. If he got chucked into hell he would probably end up clawing his way back out again anyway. But he had his hopes that if that was the way it went down Buffy just might fall into the lap of the next of kin… so to speak.

She was the reason. It had taken a long time for him to admit it even to himself. Dru had recognized it a long time before he had any idea himself. If he had any kind of sense he would have gotten the hell out of Sunnydale years ago and never looked back. He still could, and should. But sense had nothing to do with the feelings that were tearing him up inside.

It was pathetic. But it was nothing new under the sun… figuratively speaking. It seemed a 'she' had always been the reason for him and all that he had become. It had begun with his mum, and it had been enough for a long time. After that came Cecily, the first in line of women to dump him. He snorted at the memory. Though, good things had come out of that rejection. In fact, it had driven him straight in the arms of Drusilla, led to his ascension so to speak.

Good old Dru… He wondered where she was now. No one had heard from her since she left LA in a hurry earlier, but he was sure she was still alive. She had a good head on her shoulders, his black goddess, even if it was filled with butterflies, daisies and pixie dust most of the time. She knew how to handle herself. And she knew how to handle him, always had. She brought out the very best of the worst in him. He was hers and she was his – so he had thought.

But Angelus had quickly told him the facts of unlife and it had been a harsh lesson. Nothing was his, not even Drusilla. He had refused to believe him. For him Drusilla had been his salvation and destiny, not some sodding round-robbin he was willing to share with someone else. Him and Dru, they were eternal, he had said, and Angelus had laughed in his face, the first of many times.

As soon as Angelus had returned to him and Dru a few years ago, he had picked up where he left off with her. Taunting him, using every opportunity to rub his nose in his disabilities. How good it had been to smack the bugger down. Having him chained up and torture the unliving hell out of him a year later had been damn satisfying. His only regrets regarding that would be that Angel had walked away from that event only with wounds that would heal. No _parts_ whatsoever missing.

That was only a year and a half ago and if he ever got another opportunity to do the same thing again, he would do it in a heartbeat… well, not his own. Champion of Humanity or Scourge of Europe – it was still the same demon, and one whose guts he hated. And now here he was, more or less fighting under his command?

He was a vampire, a _real_ vampire, not castrated like Angel. He didn't give a piss about atonement, why should he? He should be out there, doing as much damage as he could with the piece of scrap in his scull. He wasn't cured or changed, he was tethered. And it was starting to get to him.

She might be the reason he hung around, but what good did it do him? As long as good old Frankenstein was around she would never have eyes for him.

Suddenly Spike bumped in to someone. As usual he gritted his teeth and waived the impulse to shove them roughly to the side – it was simply not worth the migraine, and stepped to the side. The other figure, however, followed. He raised his gaze, annoyed, but never had he expected to see what he did. He swallowed hard.

"Balls."

"Well hi there, precious," Glory smirked. "How nice to bump into you like this."

Remembering how well his last encounter with the hellgod had ended, Spike tried to turn and run, but she grabbed him by the back of his coat and yanked him back.

"Now, don't be like that. What is it with vampires and running away? Don't they teach you any manners in bloodsucker school?"

"Actually yeah, they teach us that vampire and manners are bloody antonyms. Aren't you supposed to be camping out in an elevator shaft somewhere anyway?"

"Mm. You know, if you think something like that will stop me, you're even dumber than you look, and considering this…" she gave him a good look. "… my condolences. Unfortunately the lack of morale and manners doesn't apply to quite all vampires, isn't that right? Like say, those do-gooder friends you spend an awful lot of time with?"

"Not my sodding friends. And, don't know what you're talking about." Spike crossed his arms defiantly over his chest.

"Yeah yeah, whatever. Look, precious…"

"That's _Spike_ to you, thanks very much, Ice-queen."

"Uh-huh." She put an iron hard fist in Spike's gut and he lurched forward groaning. "No more interruptions, okay? I guess you know what big event I have planned in a couple of days."

"Heard the rumor," Spike coughed, tasting blood as he got back up. "But don't fancy yourself original. A little hellgate opening, at this time a year? More reliable than bloody Christmas round these parts."

"What did I say about interruptions? Look, I could have just as much use for you without your tongue, so, wanna keep it? Bite it."

Spike glared at her. "_Use_ for me?"

"To give you the idea in short, I'm going to offer you a deal." Spike snorted.

"You threw me off a sodding cliff, you bint. You and me, a team? What color is the sky in your world?"

"Kind of a crimson red, mostly, you know, the whole blood and fire thing being sort of the look there," she shot back lightly. "And it's not like I'm looking for a partner in crime here, oh please! Give me some credit will you." She sniffed. "Now, it's your choice here. You can refuse and die on the spot. But if you follow me, I can offer you anything. I'll make sure that you get the credit for the apocalypse, no problemo. If you want, you can leave this sorry dimension behind and follow me to my world. When I have brought about the fall of the piss-ants sitting on my throne right now, I will have certain job openings, if you know what I mean."

"What if I fancy staying here? Suppose I like it where I am?"

"Your choice; a stupid one, but still. If you want, I could have your little government chip removed." He frowned.

"How do you know about that?"

"Please. Pre-dating the written word here! Not born yesterday. I have… contacts."

"And how do you know I won't betray you?"

"First of all, you have no morals. I know you're just a vampire so I shouldn't expect _too_ much, but I think you're at least smart enough to recognize when something could offer you some personal gain. Second of all, like I said, I did my homework. You hate the people you are with now! Especially… a certain someone, am I right?" She took a step closer, a wicked gleam in her eye.

"The spike-haired creep and his loudmouth bitch? You'll get a first hand opportunity to bring him down. I've seen the way you look at him. If you want to, I can leave him ripped apart for you to finish off."

This wasn't an unpleasant thought and Spike smiled as he imagined it. What if he could keep his world, guarantee his own skin _and_ get rid of Angel?

"You know, I've sent assassins, more than once. They always seem to disappoint. Sure, I could go after them myself, but then, such a bother for such a little creature. Who knows, maybe they could even be useful alive a little longer, but in that case, I'll need someone on the inside. This is a win-win for the both of us. What do you say?"

Spike looked at her hard, his eyes never wavering as he spoke.

"Count me in."


	72. THE HEART OF EVERYTHING

* * *

**CHAPTER 72: THE HEART OF EVERYTHING**

**

* * *

  
**

The following morning, which technically wasn't more than a few hours after they had finally gone to bed, Angel sat in a chair in at the bedroom window in the mansion, watching the still small but quickly growing pink stripe on the horizon that told of the beginning of a new day.

After they arrived back from the Magic Box Buffy had insisted on seeing to his wounds and extracting the bullet deeply embedded in his chest. He had only protested mildly. Getting a bullet out _after_ the wound had closed up around it was a real bitch – he should know. Plus he knew he would have insisted on the same thing if it had been Buffy who had been injured.

He had just gotten up a little while ago to fetch his phone, realizing it was still in his coat pocket – he might despise the thing, but he knew well enough to be reachable, which meant having the phone nearby, if someone should happen to call. Of course considering the early hour he hoped that there would be no reason for anybody to call for a good while yet. He could go on without a lot of sleep, but if the humans kept burning their candles at both ends, none of them would be left standing on D-day, and that would hardly help their cause.

He let his gaze travel to Buffy, who was curled up on the bed, finally asleep. Seeing her sleep so peacefully had stopped him in his tracks and made him sit down in the chair instead of going back to bed as he didn't want to disturb her. It was indeed a well deserved and well needed rest. She was doing a lot better, getting back into the swing of things, now nearly back to her full strength. But the physical recovery had never been a concern. Her mental improvement, so to speak, had been a lot faster than he had ever dared hoping. She was strong. A lot stronger than she gave herself credit for.

She was so beautiful, and she looked so at peace where she lay, her smooth features relaxed, her body still. He liked seeing her like that. It was rare these days.

He had always liked watching her sleep. Soul or no soul, he thought grimly. Of course she obviously wasn't truly at peace; it was only the serenity of sleep that allowed her to escape for a little while. With the battle that lay ahead and Glory, who could be truly content?

Then again, perfect contentment wasn't exactly something everybody should strive for anyway. He sighed and rubbed his head. The pain from the blow to his head was already gone. It was a shame all things didn't repair themselves as quickly as his wounds.

Given the long and eventful night they had just been through, not to mention what was still to come, Angel had informed Giles that he and Buffy would be staying in the mansion during the light hours. They couldn't move around anyway, and there was no point in them wasting energy by being cooped up in the back of the Magic Box all day, huddling in the shadows and hiding from the deadly beams that would be shining through the now open doorway. It would be better for them to conserve their energy for when it was needed for something useful. If the others discovered anything new and groundbreaking, which he doubted, but if they did, they could always call.

After pulling the curtains together Angel moved soundlessly over to the bed and slid down next to Buffy, careful not to wake her.

He had seen it in Giles' expression, heard it in his voice that he hadn't liked the idea of him and Buffy staying at the mansion by themselves all day. It had been one thing before, but Buffy was better now. The thought of him and her alone together had now obviously been moved out of the _comfortable mental images_-category.

A part of him was offended that he-they had such lack of faith in him. Part of him, the bigger part, the one in touch with the grim reality, understood. Agreed, even. In his unnaturally long life _she_ was the only thing that had ever brought him perfect happiness. Twice. He didn't even trust himself around her. There was no point in lying to himself about that. He didn't trust his self-control, couldn't guarantee that he would never, ever be in any danger of hurting her again. And if he couldn't even trust himself, why should they trust him? Plus, using this last year as a confirmation of his reliability would just be really, really ironic.

Reaching out, pulling a stray stand of blonde hair back behind Buffy's ear he felt a tweak of sadness in his chest when his hand brushed her cheek. It used to be warm and rosy, radiating heat that warmed everything around her, that warmed him. Now it was pale and cold, just like himself. Not that it made any difference to him – she always seemed to make his dead body feel more alive than anything else, even if she no longer had the body head to literally warm him.

She moved and smiled in her sleep when he touched her.

"Mmm," she moaned softly, opening her eyes. "Is it morning?"

"Sunrise." He smiled at her.

"Mm, now that's a sight I wanna wake up to every morning," she said, smiling and touching his face, still drowsy. Angel said nothing, just nodded; knowing that he didn't have to spell out to her that it was mutual.

"Are we leaving?" Buffy asked, looking around in search of a clock. "What time is it?"

"It's a little past 6 AM."

"Hmm, what's with the no-clocks deal? Clocks are good things. I would have made it to High School a lot less without them." She paused, quirking a brow. "In what reality would being present at Sunnydale High be a good thing? I totally see why you don't have any."

"The sun. If you keep track of when it sets and rises, you can make pretty good estimations. Just concentrate, you'll be able to sense it."

"Huh. Another vampire thing?"

"Mmm. And no, we're not going anywhere until tonight. Remember, I told Giles we're staying here until the sun sets." She frowned.

"You did? You did. Huh. Must have been tired. What did he say about that?"

"Not much," he answered hesitantly. Well, it was true. He hadn't said much about it in words. In glance maybe. And in taking off and cleaning his glasses, his mouth pulling into a thin line.

"So how did you get us out of book worming?" Buffy asked, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"What did you tell him?"

"Well, I, in fact I told him that all of us could use a few extra hours of rest, but I'm not sure he thought that was a good idea. Anyway, I just told him how it was gonna be, that he could call if something important showed up, and if it doesn't, you know, the nocturnal fighters will be there when the sun sets."

Buffy laughed, trying to imagine Giles' reaction to Angel saying that, although she suspected his choice of words had been somewhat different when speaking to the watcher. She liked the commanding, in-charge side of him. He hadn't been like that when he lived in Sunnydale. Buffy figured a year away from the still fresh guilt trip that was her friends, and running a detective agency that had _Cordelia_ as an employee must have changed him. She would have liked to be there to see it happen.

It seemed that most of their time together had had to do with pain, death, heartbreak, apocalypse… choose one or all of the above. One way or another, anyway. She had wanted him to be a part of her life, and to be a part of his. Tackle big and small things together, share mundane, everyday things with him. In life it hadn't turned out like that, but she had to believe that they were going to be able to work something now – even if it was in death.

A surge of joy went through Angel when he heard her laugh. It was such a rare proof of contentment from here these days. He caressed her face fondly.

"So what's the plan, then? Don't tell me." She looked around pointedly. "You want me to help you clean this place, don't you? 'Cause it would need a good scrubbing and who better to put to work than an aerodynamic vampire vampire slayer?"

"Hadn't actually thought about that," he said, glancing up at the ceiling. "But now when you mention it…" She swatted him teasingly in the arm.

"How is your leg?" he asked, suddenly serious and she moved it tryingly, smiling at his worried expression.

"Better. Fine," she assured him. "I'm not the one who got shot and my skull crushed, you know. I think I have dibs on worrying this time."

"I see your point… doesn't mean that I agree, though." Angel flashed her a smile which Buffy returned.

"Of course you don't. But sunset isn't until… what, around eightish? Then we have a lot of time on our hands."

"Yeah, actually I thought sleep would be allowed and needed for a few more hours," he suggested. "After that, I'm sure we'll find some way to keep busy." A beat of silence. "I, um, I mean, I spent a lot of time here before. I kept myself occupied."

"Not with scrubbing the ceiling though," she commented, woozily, well on her way back to sleep. She rolled over and shifted until she lay in position, spooned against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and she pulled the blanket over them.

Well, this wasn't horrible at all, Buffy thought as she drifted into sleep. Right here - curled up in his arms, right now - this early spring morning, there was no apocalypse, no imminent death, no pain or guilt. There were only the two of them. If a moment of stillness and comfort was all she was able to steal, she was taking it, no questions asked. They could stay like this the whole day.

* * *

Cordelia stood silently and looked out at the people and the cars passing in the street outside the Espresso Pump. Having placed her order she waited impatiently for the caffeinated beverage that would constitute her breakfast. She wasn't really hungry. She had a headache, and she hoped that washing down her painkillers with some strong coffee would make it lessen even though experience told her that it wouldn't.

It was noon, and it was a beautiful day. Disgustingly beautiful. She had slept in. The others had left for the Magic Box earlier. She didn't really see how going there in the morning and sticking around all day, and most of the night too would make any difference, but they had to keep trying, she supposed. What else could they do? They had no homes, no lives here, at least most of them didn't anyway. _She_ didn't. Sticking around the motel all day _so_ wasn't an option.

She looked at the people passing outside the coffee shop, she looked at their bright, well rested faces and heard the cheery tone of their voices and right then she hated them. She was supposed to be one of those people by now, one of those people with bright smiles, perfect hair, perfectly manicured nails and places to be, people to meet, stuff to do that had to do with a career and a real life, not death and apocalypse. Instead here she was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, her hair done with only a few strokes with the brush, make-up practically non-existent and definitely not covering the dark circles under her eyes as well as she would have wanted. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

She watched a girl in her early twenties, long dark hair, perfect Prada bag dangling from her arm, the heels of her brand-new Manolo Blahniks clicking against the pavement as she walked with an annoying skip in her step. She turned her head and Cordelia caught a glimpse of her perfect dazzling smile. The girl was a picture of what she could have been now. You might be dead in a week and you don't even know it, Cordelia thought scornfully. She wasn't sure if she should pity her, or envy her for that. That girl had no idea what was going on around her and therefore she had absolutely no chance of stopping it. Ignorance is bliss. At least until some hellbeast shoots out of the ground to eat your head.

But who was she kidding? It wasn't like she would have any chance of stopping the apocalypse either. No super powers and no fighting skills worth mentioning. Not big on the book-worming, especially considering that most volumes Giles had put in front of her the last few days hadn't even been in English.

Her visions had been a big, fat non-help lately. Her last vision had been some obscure thing about a girl and some strange texts sending her through a gateway or something. She didn't know where but it sure as hell hadn't been in Sunnydale. That would probably mean that the powers didn't even think they should be here. This was Buffy's turf, _her_ responsibility, and theirs, Angel's, was in LA. They should be _there_ helping people. But they weren't, so the poor girl she had suffered a migraine for was probably dead by now. Sad, yes. But mostly it pissed her off that the powers would torment her with a skull-exploding vision for nothing.

"Cordelia?" She flinched, startled as she had been deep in thought, and also because the voice had been _loud_ and it felt like someone had driven a nail into her brainstem. She looked up and saw Wesley's pale face.

"Wesley. Don't tell me you were sent out to retrieve me or something. We're not exactly in school anymore, even though you'd think that the way Giles goes on and on. I'm not ditching class or anything. I just needed a few more hours of sleep."

"No, no, of course not," he assured her quickly. "You're not the only absentee this morning. Willow hasn't come in yet, apparently she had classes to attend, some finals I think she said. We all understand. I would have liked to sleep in as well, had it not been for the terrible noise outside my door."

"Heard it too, but it was a little further away from my room. I think it was just Joe beating up the vending machine again."

Wesley stared blankly at her. "Joe?"

"Oh, haven't you two been introduced? The fat drunk. Came knocking on my door a few nights ago offering to hand wash my underwear in exchange for beer."

"Goodness." Wesley couldn't help the look of amusement on his face even though Cordelia glared at him. "How, ah, how did you respond?"

"Let's just say even a small axe scares a big drunk if you use it right."

"Oh. Yes… quite. So, did you sleep well?"

"Nope."

"I'm, um, sorry to hear that." He looked her, a worried wrinkle between his eyes. "Is your headache getting worse?"

She waved her hand dismissively. A lot could be said about Cordelia Chase. She could be snippy, she could be a tactless bitch and she could complain, but she wasn't a whiner, and she wasn't big on admitting vulnerability. "The same. So what _are_ you doing here?"

"I was informed that it is lunch-time and that it was my turn to go out to get it. And apparently lunch time around here means coffee and donuts, at least if you should believe Xander." He handed a note with his coffee order to the clerk behind the counter, scratching his head as he looked at the menu, remembering a time when coffee was just – _coffee_.

"Caffeine, sugar, fat. It's got all the essentials as far as I can see. And knowing Xander it's probably followed by pizza in a couple of hours anyway."

"Ah, yes, excellent, we're all set, nutritionally wise then," he replied sarcastically.

"Yeah, and what would you have preferred, tea and crumpets?"

"Something the matter?"

"I'm good. I'm great. This is me, being great. I just don't think a perfectly balanced diet is on anybody's priority list right now. Coffee, sugar, fast food. It keeps you going. Who cares about the rest. Anyway they don't have donuts here; you have to go to Mister Donut for that."

"Mister, ah, Mister Donut, of course." Wesley looked around, and then sighed in defeat. "You wouldn't happen to know where that is, would you?" He paid for his purchases and grabbed the bag with coffees to go.

Cordelia took her cup from the counter and looked at him. "Didn't do a lot of donut shopping when you lived here, huh? I'll show you."

Cordelia sipped her coffee as they crossed the street and Wesley side glanced at her.

"Isn't that the same shirt you were wearing yesterday?" Cordelia gave him a look of venom, and if she hadn't wanted her coffee so badly the big-mouth walking beside her might just have gotten it all over him.

"Thank you for reminding me Wesley. Much like nutrition personal hygiene isn't really something we have a lot of time to think about now, you know?"

"Of course, I didn't mean… I mean, you're not… I just meant that one isn't used to seeing you…" he sighed. "I apologize, I shouldn't have said anything."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm not as fabulous as usual, right? But you know how they _charge_ you when you go to the Laundromat? And you know how we haven't actually made any money for, like, ever?"

"I know that all too well, yes," Wesley muttered. "I don't know about Willow's living conditions, but I'm sure Giles would help you out with your laundry if you asked him?" She gave him a look – a _look_.

"Wesley. I know you wouldn't believe so looking at me, but I have a little pride left."

"Yes, yes, point taken. Does Angel have a washing machine in the mansion? If so, why not ask him?"

Cordelia sniffed. "I'm not asking _Angel_ for _anything_."

"Cordelia, don't you think this is getting a little silly? Set aside your personal vendetta and ask him, I'm sure he would only like doing you a favor."

"'Personal vendetta'? You can take your personal vendetta and stick it, pal. Plus, would _you_ really let someone with his sense of smell do your laundry? Because you know, I make it a point _not_ to over-share my bodily odors with someone who might start to see me as _afternoon tea_." Her voice was ripe with sarcasm but she had made a sort of point that made Wesley grimace at the disturbing images in his head.

"So how are the others getting along today?" Cordelia continued after a few moments. "What about Xander and Mr. Sniff?"

"Angel's not there today, actually." She looked sharply at him.

"He's not there?" she repeated. "Then where is he?"

"He and Buffy are still at the mansion, apparently, but Angel assured Giles that they will be coming in right after sunset."

"Awful long time until sunset isn't it. Gee, I wonder what they might be doing to pass all that time."

"Cordelia, the man was shot less than twelve hours ago. And Buffy is still… I'm sure they just need some rest."

"Oh please. If he needed a sick day every time he got shot, we wouldn't ever get anything done." She paused abruptly as she realized what she had just said. "I mean, we _wouldn't_ have. Past tense." Wesley looked at her.

"You miss it, don't you?"

"Miss what?"

"All of it. Angel, our business, the life and home you had created in Los Angeles?"

"Pfft. Ha! Did you order magic mushrooms with your coffee? Because you're clearly delusional. That wasn't my life, Wesley, just a mistake, which Angel so clearly have demonstrated. The only reason I can't shake that mistake and move on with my actual life is because of these stupid visions. _His_ fault again, mind you."

Wesley dropped the subject, knowing better than to press the issue even though he could hear the vulnerability well through her passionate denial. He hoped that Cordelia knew he was there if she ever wanted to talk about it. At the moment she didn't seem very much in the mood for heart-to-heart conversation. She seemed rather… on the warpath. Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned Angel's absence, but she was bound to find out sooner or later – better from him than from Xander.

"I mean, this is just great. We slap Buffy's soul back in its container and it doesn't take _two minutes _before he's back chasing her tail. Won't he ever learn?"

"I'm sure there is nothing to worry about. Perfect happiness is hardly an issue for any of us right now. They just need a bit of rest, it's been an intense couple of weeks after all."

"Yeah, for all of us! He's the immortal one; he doesn't have to worry about stress. Not like he's going to have a heart attack or anything. Can't they rest in the Magic Box, you know, under supervision? We could put a bed in the back room with all the training equipment. _Beds_. Separate."

Wesley let out a chuckle but was quickly deterred from this display of amusement as his healing ribs made themselves felt. Recovery for a human, especially one deprived of the rest so strictly ordered by the doctor was slow and painful. Certain aspects of the vampiric persuasion were definitely enviable.

"Cordelia, surely you don't think they would forget the past so easily and just have at it? They're not dogs in heat, after all."

"Fine line if you ask me," she grumbled.

"And hasn't Angel proven more than once that he has a remarkable sense of responsibility?" Cordelia glared at him and turned to him as she stopped outside the entrance door to Mister Donut.

"Oh yeah, yeah, sure he has. Like when he _did_ the Slayer on her seventeenth and went psycho. Or when he let cheap-actress-slut drug him into pretty much the same thing. How about when he dragged Buffy to England, she got killed and he decided that blowing up the entire Council was the appropriate payback? No, no, I know; how about when he got back from England, _fired us_, followed Drusilla around town until we got Buffy back and all it took for him to lose it again was one look at her?" She paused and yanked open the door, her look somehow triumphant.

"Yeah Wesley, 'remarkable sense of responsibility' alright. I feel much safer now."


	73. HEARTBREAKTOWN IS PRETTY

A/N: Thank you again to everybody who is reading/reviewing/favoriting. If you're a silent reader, remember that feedback is the best fuel for any fanfic writer and that every review pushes me to update quicker. ;) Even a few words are appreciated! Now let's get back to the story shall we? This chapter turned out rather long...

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**CHAPTER 73: HEARTBREAKTOWN IS PRETTY**

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The whole gang was gathered when Buffy and Angel arrived at the Magic Box an hour or so after sunset. The whole gang, that was, except for Spike, but since when was he really a part of the group? Wesley, Xander, Willow and Cordelia were seated around the large table, as usually stacked with books, plus empty coffee cups, a half-eaten pizza and a few empty cartons telling the tale of another long research day. Faith sat on the countertop looking bored. Giles organized books in one of the book cases. Gunn was polishing a broadsword Angel was sure that he recognized as his own.

Just as they stepped inside, Angel chuckled softly at something Buffy had said. All gazes were shifted in their direction. Xander glared at Angel suspiciously.

"He actually does that," Buffy teased, observing the look on Xander's face. "I know it's a scary sight, but it's really okay."

"Hm!" Xander responded, looking back down, pretending to read the book in front of him. There was a certain edge to that 'hm' and Buffy felt something tighten in her chest. Not more tension, she couldn't take it. Things might never be what they had been but it had gone alright yesterday. What had they done now to merit such a stiff reception?

"How nice of you to drop by," Cordelia commented dryly. "Have a nice day risking the safety of the world while we were here, bored to death with all these musty books?" she said, throwing one of said volumes down on the table for emphasis and Buffy was certain she saw Giles wince as his gaze traveled to the victimized book.

"Cordelia," Angel said, his voice holding a warning that he could already tell she would ignore. She merely shrugged.

"I'm just saying – here we are, trying to avert this apocalypse while you take the day off, presumably to risk another one. We _really_ don't need you switching teams now, you know."

"Believe it or not, I am actually saying this – she's right," Xander said. Buffy glanced at Angel. He didn't look happy, his jaw was tense with withheld anger and shame, but he didn't look surprised either. He looked like he might have expected this reaction from them. What had she missed here?

She looked over at Giles. He stood silently watching them. She couldn't quite tell if he actually was worried about it – in other words, _them_ – too or if he was simply tired of bickering. She hoped for the latter. She didn't like the thought that Giles had such little faith in them.

"Personally I don't think a chastity belt to stop the star-crossed lovers from kicking the big champion's gear shift, so to speak, back into the homicidal lunatic squad is too much to ask, considering your track record," Cordelia went on. She glanced at the depressingly empty notepad she had on the table in front of her. Another fruitless day for her, while some people apparently saw fit to bail on them and have some _quality time_. _Life threatening _quality time for all she knew.

"Cordelia, what Angel and I do is none of your business," Buffy said firmly, surprising everybody and herself most of all with how calm and confident she sounded. But Cordelia didn't notice it, or she didn't care – she snorted.

"Oh, that's rich! It's _totally_ my business as long as I have to be part of the cleanup crew! It's _all_ of our necks on the line here, remember?"

"Just stop it, okay?" Buffy shot back, feeling attacked and wishing somewhere for Angel to help her out. "Stop talking about things you don't understand. If you must know, no, nothing like _that_ happened today, but I don't see why we need to explain it for you." She let her gaze roam across the room, studying all of them, trying to read their reactions, silently challenging them to step in, speak up, _pick a side_. But Willow just looked unhappy as she mostly did when there was fighthing within the group and Gunn, Wesley and Faith suddenly became very busy with whatever they were doing... and Giles' face was still unreadable, so Buffy turned back to Cordelia, though what she said was clearly directed at all of them.

"Look, you all obviously trust us well enough to lead you through this impending apocalypse. If you seriously think we can't be left without supervision for a few hours without throwing responsibility to the wind and _risking _anything… Then maybe we're not cut out to lead the battle against Glory."

"I never said that," Cordelia grumbled. "When you fight, that's good. I just don't want to see anything happening that will lead to the two of you fighting each other instead." Buffy snorted.

"And you should talk? Who's _always_ been the first to pick a fight around here?"

"_I'm_ not causing problems. That's your department. I simply say what everyone thinks but no one dares to talk about. I think it; I say it, that's my way."

"Maybe you need a new way," Buffy bit back.

"Yeah, and you'd be the expert wouldn't you?"

"Hey, I dare to talk about it," Xander cut in.

"Xander, please", Willow murmured, her voice imploring.

Wesley shook his head, obviously ashamed of the things that were said. Cordelia had been in a bad mood when they arrived back in the early afternoon and it hadn't taken much for her to rally Xander as well. He had listened to their… discussion… all day but he had hoped that they would have the good taste of keeping their thoughts to themselves as soon as they saw that everything was alright. He knew that Cordelia was still hurt and angry and that it was her way of dealing to act out, even sink as low as hurting Angel right back, but he had hoped that she would have grown past teaming up on him with Xander of all people.

But they were all tired, make that exhausted, frustrated and, though for the sake of morale it would never be said out loud, scared of what was going to happen in a few days. In a week's time they could all be dead and the planet overrun with demons. If it _didn't_ affect them, they wouldn't be human, but it still didn't justify this behavior.

"What is this all about?" Faith spoke up. "Angel's standing right there, as soulful as ever, so what's the problem? Damn Cor, you'd fit right in with the chicks in jail. Can't guarantee you'd last long though."

"Right, of course. Have an opinion, get _shanked_, that's how it works right? Something you're pretty familiar with yourself huh?"

"All I'm saying is you learn to keep your mouth shut now and then. You might wanna look into it some time."

"I'll pass, but shutting up would be a great look for _you_!"

"Enough!" Everyone fell silent at the unexpected roar from Angel. He paused for a second, waited for all heads to turn to him and then continued in a quieter, but still somewhat threatening tone.

"Look – I'm here, I have my soul, and if anyone seriously thought otherwise, that's your problem. _Get over it_. Since I suspect none of you have found any miraculous spells that would stop Glory from performing her ritual, I suggest we start preparing for a big battle." He looked like he was finished speaking, but then continued. "That is, if you're sure you trust us enough for that," he added bitterly.

"Let's cut the bitching about the soul then. Still unfair that you got the day off," Cordelia muttered.

"I didn't say that you had to be here all day. In fact I suggested to Giles that everyone could take a day off – it's not like we're likely to find anything new about Glory in the books anyway. You could have just stayed at home."

"Pfft," Cordelia snorted. "What home? I don't recall any homes." She turned to Wesley. "Do you recall any homes?" Not giving him the opportunity to say anything, and not really meaning for him to, she went on. "Of course not, because there aren't any homes here. By the by, for me there's not much of a home in LA either. _Someone_ had it attacked and burnt. Do you have any idea what the renovations will cost? That window alone…"

"I'm sorry. When all this is over, I will pay you back somehow," Buffy offered. It was easy to say it, to apologize, because even though having destroyed Cordelia's home was bad, on the list of bad deeds it just didn't compare. Apologizing to someone for having murdered their child, or parent, or friend – or girlfriend, was just a whole lot more complicated. Cordelia just shrugged.

"Whatever."

"I would offer you guys to stay in my old house," Buffy continued, "but since, you know, my house is technically a pothole these days… Not so much."

"Oh, why would you do that? We're fine where we are... We're staying at the Downtowner Apts. Motel; home of everything creeping, crawling and slithering," Cordelia said with disgust.

"And screwing," Faith provided. "Don't forget that." Cordelia suddenly looked sick.

"Thank you Faith. Please, remind me again. Don't you want to tell them the story about when your neighbors were actually _doing_ it so hard that the painting above your bed fell down and knocked you in the head?" Faith smirked.

"Don't be so stuck-up, Cor. At least its only grubby humans doing the horizontal groove. Have you ever told Buffy the story about your little temporary demon groupie thingy that resulted in some weird-ass mystical pregnancy? Yeah, heard that. A miniature demonic Cordelia and we're _surprised_ the world is ending?" Buffy scowled and looked at Angel. With the exception for Wesley, who had been there and knew what Faith was referring to, all heads turned to Angel.

"What is she talking about?" Buffy asked suspiciously, casting a wary eye at Angel.

"Brrr," Xander supplied with an exaggerated shudder. Angel looked bewildered.

"What…?" He blinked. "Oh... It was a, a Haxil Beast that imbued human men with its seed." A beat of silence. "You didn't think…?" Angel frowned. "No, no, no, no, no." He shook his head. Cordelia snorted.

"Like I'm so disgusting? You're the dead one! And about that, how was I supposed to know that Wilson Christopher was demony imbued or whatever. He didn't _seem_ like some kind of monster."

"Wilson Christopher is a demon?" Xander asked, not considering how it affected his manliness to confess that he knew who the famous LA fashion photographer was. Trying to claim that he had only heard the name through Anya would only make him seem defensive and make it worse. "I mean, uh, Wilson Christopher who?"

Angel sighed. "Not a demon, just doing a demon's bidding."

Xander nodded. "Kinda like Cordy herself then, working for you and all."

"Ha! I don't work for him. Not anymore. He _fired_ me," Cordelia pointed out. "And if he ever wants me back, he's gonna have to _beg_ on his hands and knees."

"Can we get back to the point?" Buffy interrupted, clearly annoyed.

"The point, which is?"

Buffy stared at her. "You know… apocalypse. The little pet project we have going on the side when we can take a little time off from attacking each other?"

"Oh that. Well, I thought you were on top of it since you felt comfortable enough to take the day off."

"I think searching anymore for Glory or her lair is out of the question," Angel said, hearing Cordelia's smug tone and interrupting her before she could start anything up again. "It's tiring for all of us, and it's not the most effective way to stop the ritual. She's too strong. Since we stand no chance of killing her and we can't find her demons, we can only go after the blood. And if we actually do get it, we can count on a massive counterattack. She'll go through anything – and anyone, to get to me or Buffy and get more blood. It's not worth the risk. We don't want a pissed off goddess after us. She's not angry enough to go out of her way to get rid of us yet, and I would like to keep it that way. Instead we need to plan an attack on the night in question. We wanna make sure that when we've made our move she won't have enough time to regroup until it's too late."

"Giles, can we find out when on the 22nd it will be held?" Buffy asked her former watcher, who still hadn't said a word since they came. His face was closed off and seemed mostly to be on the paler side of… pale. He nodded briefly.

"I might be able to establish the approximate time when the walls will be weakened, yes."

"Good. What do we have in the way of weapons, you know, heavy weapons, not just the usual pointy-hackety stuff?"

"Rocket launcher!" Xander suggested. "That can do real damage. As in little pieces raining all over the mall kind of damage."

"Right." Buffy frowned slightly at the memory. "Good. Anything else?"

"I have looked up some spells," Willow provided. "There are some things I could use that should help. You know, fire, freezing-spell, maybe some other stuff. I don't have those books at here though, they're at the dorm."

"To fight a god, it would truly be of help to have the weapon of a god," Wesley mused, looking at Angel. "I might have an idea for something in that department, though I can't make any promises until I can make some calls."

"Good, that's good." Angel nodded, falling silent, as did everyone else. They had some ideas to pursue, and it was a start, but they were all eerily aware that it might not be enough. Everybody stood, or sat uncomfortably and no one seemed to have anything else to say. Wesley coughed a little, Faith glanced anxiously at the clock on the wall and Giles put down his glasses on the countertop and reached into a drawer in search of a clean handkerchief. Cordelia stared blankly into space and Xander fiddled idly with the bandages on his hands while Willow studied him unhappily. Gunn observed his own reflection in the polished broad sword. There must have been almost a full minute of silence before Buffy ended it.

"Look, Angel and I were planning on patrolling. Just 'cause there's a big apocalypse around the corner doesn't mean you can forget about the smaller perspective…" Also it was a justifiable reason to get them out of there, which had rapidly become a priority. Splitting up the group a little could only be good right now. "Why don't you look into the weapons round-up and we'll see where we're at later."

"Well, if you'd rather…" Giles began, but Faith interrupted him, practically bouncing down from the counter.

"Think that sounds like a plan. Gunn, are you up for it?" He swung his sword for emphasis.

"I'm always up for it," he grinned. "And, always ready to dust a few vamps." Faith turned to Buffy and Angel.

"Between the four of us we can make it through all cemeteries in a couple of hours. What do you say, B?" Buffy glanced at Angel. She didn't exactly feel like a foursome. She wanted to go alone with him. As far as she was concerned, they needed to talk.

"Okay," she said. "Why don't Angel and I start with the ones inside the city, those are usually the most populated anyway." Faith shrugged, not seeming to have anything against the idea.

"'Kay. Let's head out then."

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Buffy and Angel walked down the street in silence, heading out on patrol. She drew in a deep breath and exhaled it as an poignant sigh, looking for a response from the vampire walking beside her, getting nothing. The breathing thing was a habit. While not needing it to live – or more accurately, to _not_ live, it still gave her the feeling of having a sliver of normalcy in all of her freakiness.

Plus, sighing, at least a sort of sighing, this sort, was a _signal_. Body language could speak volumes without a single word being said, and she _knew_ that he could read them. With super-senses and hundreds of years of mastering the art of skulk, she knew for a fact that he could. If he would. Which clearly wasn't the case right now.

_Men._

Angel didn't say anything. His posture was slightly hunched; his hands shoved in his coat pockets and his face somber, closed off, very much with the non-communication. He also didn't sigh, or breathe for that matter. It was clear that conversation of any kind would have to be initiated by her.

She glanced at him. Deep in thought as usual, she noted. Either that or the morose scowl was merely a type of gameface he put on to avoid having to participate in conversation. She frowned at that. No, he wasn't happy, she could see that. He had kept it together through the meeting at the Magic Box but clearly the argument – rather assault on their trustworthiness as far as she was concerned – had left him troubled. She didn't like him troubled. Okay, troubled he always was. But she didn't like him extra-troubled. She realized she was gonna have to be the one to bring the subject up again – he wouldn't, and she might as well get it over with right away. She would drag the words out of him if necessary. She might need help from a couple of wild horses.

"Well, that was pleasant. Bracing," she said. And then she waited. She listened to the rhythmic sound of their trampling as they walked along at a brisk pace. Normally – _before_, she would have said it was a silent night, but now she knew better. She heard the soft rustling of leaves as a light breath of wind disturbed the tree branches, she heard squeaking from a rat in an alley they just passed, she could hear a car alarm going off several blocks away, a dog barking in the distance and without even looking she could tell that there was a person sitting in a parked car across the street.

She was super-aware. With these predatory senses, nothing escaped her. She was beginning to learn these senses, how to hone them and how to focus. It was creepy, and a little repulsive to think about where it all was coming from. These senses were _demonic_. It was different than her old Slayer senses. She never wanted this, even if it did help her out while fighting the creepy crawlies of the night. But it wasn't like she had a choice, and she figured she couldn't waste any more time wallowing in self-pity. There were other, more important things at hand.

But before taking on any of them she would very much like to be rid of this nagging little worry that had wouldn't stop gnawing at her until she had talked to Angel.

The vampire in question didn't answer her for a long while, not until just when she thought about saying something else.

"They have a point, though." She frowned and looked up at him, trying to meet his gaze.

"What do you mean?" He said nothing. The walking continued and she was getting annoyed with it. She hurried in front of him and stopped him from keep walking to avoid the conversation, forcing him to face her, which he did reluctantly. She gestured a 'T' with her hands. "Stop. Wait. Talk. They have a point about what?" Angel looked at her with a face that clearly told her that he would rather put off this conversation for another time and another place. She could also see that he knew she wouldn't let him do so.

"About us… You and me," he said hesitantly. "They're not wrong. Us being together… it's not without risk. You can't really blame them for their concern." Buffy shook her head.

"But we _wouldn't_ risk it. I mean, we wouldn't do _anything_ to risk that happening…" Angel sighed, frustrated.

"That's just it – it doesn't take_ that_. Whenever I'm close to you, I can feel it." She frowned.

"It?" He finally met her gaze.

"Happiness… forbidding, teasing, just waiting for me to slip up. It wouldn't take more than a second of lowered defenses, of lost control to get to a point where we really don't wanna be."

"You _won't_ lose control," she said firmly.

"You can't know that."

"I know that! I know that… because you're you. And even when you're at your happiest, I can see that slight little scowl that tells me that you're still holding on to brood-inducing thoughts. Angel, it's okay." He shook his head and turned away from her.

"You don't have any idea how much strength it takes to maintain it," he said silently, facing away from her. "_Now_, sure. Things to do every day; world in peril things. It's not an issue now, but if we get through this… six months from now, a year, five years… I can't promise that it will always work." Buffy tried to ignore the painful knot in her throat.

"It will," she said to his back. "In time, you know, maybe it won't be so hard. You'll just know… how far to take it without endangering anything. I trust you," she said softly. He whirled around, startling her.

"I don't trust me! Don't you see?" He sounded so desperate that a chill went down Buffy's spine. "You're putting your life in my hands, again and again, and the thought of forgetting that, of ever betraying you again, it scares the hell out of me. I've already proven once this year that I'm not… _safe_. You have no good reason to believe in me."

"Well, I have to," she said, struggling to maintain the calm in her voice. "Because what else is there? You-you can't go through life afraid."

"You can't go through life _dead_ either. Only now you have to, and it's my fault."

"Angel…"

"Do you have any idea what would happen if I lost my soul again? What I would do?" He was upset now, not even hearing how ridiculous that sounded after everything that had happened the last year.

"Pretty safe to say I have a beat on what you would do, yeah," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

"I would kill all your friends. Instantly, they have messed with my plans enough times," he went on, his gaze dark, hollow and unseeing. His tone was bitter, harsh, full of self-loathing. "Screw art, they're _gone_. Willow would go first. Xander last just to see the look on his face – because you can't ever forget _that_, even if you're just out for execution." She shook her head in disbelief.

"Angel, _stop_. Why are you saying this to me?"

"I would make sure that you lost your soul too," he went on, ignoring her. "Shaman, soul-eater. There's always a way. Maybe you wouldn't even resist. When you find the last scrapes of everything that you care about slaughtered, maybe you will give in without hesitation. What would happen then, what do you think? How long until the world goes, hm?" Buffy moved close to him, grabbing his arms.

"Angel, stop it! You're _not him_." He shrugged her off and took a step back.

"I _am_ him. Everything that 'he' is, exists inside of me. Everything that 'he' does, I think about doing. It's all in there, every thought, every desire."

"I know. I know what it's like to live with a demon inside of me, remember?" she reminded him.

"I know you do. But you have your soul."

"So do you," she said, bewildered.

"No. I mean, you _have _you soul. I have a _curse_. A nifty little hex invented by a grieving, sadistic gypsy tribe, especially designed to make me suffer as much as possible and to make sure that I wouldn't be able to find peace again. Ever. Your soul was given as a gift, and mine… as a plague. I should have learned to accept that a long time ago."

"Don't say that. _Don't_ call your soul a plague."

"It's true. That it was given to me as one, anyway. Not only do I suffer for all the horrible things I have done in the past, but I also live in fear of what I would do if it happened again. Sometime, somewhere… It will happen, I will lose control. It's eternity we're talking about here Buffy, a very long time. I want to be with you forever, or for however long I live, but I'm not gonna make it all the way. Not even I can keep a hundred percent control forever."

Buffy felt panic rising. She was starting to recognize this speech, because she seemed to have heard it plenty of times before. It was the familiar ring of the 'Buffy, you know how much I love you,_ but..._' speech and this time it scared her.

"So you'll lose your soul. We've been through that a few times now," she said, her voice high, upset. "We'll capture you and do my spell, or gift, or whatever on you too. Problem solved."

Angel grabbed her roughly and shoved her against the house wall, menacing her, clutching her arms hard enough to hurt. She bit back a yelp. She wasn't afraid, she told herself. Maybe she was afraid of the demon he was flashing her, but she wasn't afraid of him, and he knew that. Didn't he?

"What if Willow is dead before you even have time to think about that, huh?" he hissed under his breath. "What if the sight of Giles maimed and scattered for display will throw you off balance long enough for me to get to you? I've done it all before, more times than you can even comprehend. Thousands and _thousands_ of times. If I decide to do it quickly and stop playing around, they'll all be _gone_ before you realized what happened." Angrily Buffy broke free from his grip and shoved him back hard.

"So what do you want?" The frustration and fury made her eyes teary, but she wouldn't allow herself to cry. Not like this, not in front of him. He wouldn't get to just hug her and forget about all his. If it was such a big problem, they needed to solve it right now and she was tired of being the little girl, the victim.

"Is this the point where you say 'oh gee, I don't think I wanna be with you after all. I made your life a living _hell_ for the last seven months, but now let's forget it all and move on with our lives on separate paths, so, sorry about the multiple deaths and let's _not_ keep in touch'?! I can't do it Angel, don't you see that?! We tried the forgetting thing. See where I got us! You get split in two, come back to Sunnydale and it doesn't take long before one thing starts to lead to another."

"Buffy, I don't want to hurt you like that again. And I can't let more people die because of me."

"Are you gonna kill yourself then, again, is that it? Because I had nothing to do with Toth, you managed that all on your own, while running around town saving peoples lives if I recall. Bad things happen, whether we're together or not. No such thing as a risk-free existence, for anyone."

"I know that, but…"

"Just tell me! Is your way of saying that you'll leave Sunnydale without me when the apocalypse is over? Is it?"

"Buffy, I… Don't..."

"Don't what, don't love you, _again_?" She heard herself laugh, a bitter, joyless laugh. She took a step towards him. Oh, how much she wanted to hate him right now, hate him for doing this to her again and right now. But of course much like always she couldn't even do that. She looked down and saw herself standing on a manhole cover. Perfect. The only thing missing for perfection would be having this conversation in the sewers.

"Do you still actually think I have a choice in that? God, how much easier my life would have been if I could have just dumped you and moved on. Who cares about Angel, let him go brood, find someone else. I tried you know, twice. The first one turned evil after I slept with him, and not in the 'losing your soul and become a murderous monster way'! No, in the 'just as human as usual, but just used you and never loved you way', and let me tell you, that kind isn't really funny either. But I guess he got what was coming to him, right, 'cause it wasn't long ago that I tortured him to death."

"Buffy…"

"Shut up! It didn't work. I tried to love Riley, I really wanted to, you know. He was safe. Kind and gentle and he didn't treat me like some kid, unable to make a single decision for herself. But it didn't work, I knew that long _before_ you killed him. Riley was just a rebound guy, which is a shame because he deserved better, but it's what he was to me. You know why? You. I love _you_, and nothing can change that. You really ought to get that by now. Still, you obviously wanna head for the hills as soon as possible, huh?" He shook his head, the pain obvious in his eyes.

"No, I don't want that!"

"Neither do I! You can't just leave me here. What am I supposed to do, live in the mansion alone? Go for nightly patrols and meet with the few friends I have left when they're not up to better things? Steal money for packets of blood or hope that, that Giles will supply me out of pity? Wait for the next time you go evil and hope I can figure it out when you come to town, _before_ you kill the rest of my friends?"

"I'm just saying, we have to figure something out. We can't jump headlong into something that will lead us to something bad and dangerous for everyone."

"We won't. Please Angel, just wait and see. We'll take one day at a time." He looked at her for a moment, then shrugged in defeat. He turned away from her again, and she knew that the discussion… fight, whatever, it was always a fine line with them – was over for now.

She suddenly felt very much like kicking ass. Pent up aggravation and frustration was clawing at her from the inside. She could let it out in either of two ways – go home and cry her eyes out, or kill things. She quickly decided that she preferred to do the latter. Alone, or she might end up killing _him_. They did, after all, have plenty of experience in that area.

"You know what, you take Shady Hill and I'll go Restfield," she suggested quietly. "I'll check out the guys when I'm done and we'll meet back in the mansion later." He gave her a look of concern.

"Are you sure you're…" She held up a hand, cutting him off.

"Don't. I've been slaying for six years, I don't need a babysitter and I definitely don't need you questioning if I'm fit to do it." With that she hurried away from him, not waiting for his response.

She half jogged the rest of the way to the cemetery with cold, ridiculous tears finally trickling down her cheeks. Would he ever realize that his attempts at protecting her from him actually managed to hurt her in ways that his demon's mocking would never be able to? After all, Angelus was a soulless monster, known for his ruthlessness and sadism. Angel on the other hand loved and cared for her, and despite that he was able to hurt her so much. Or maybe it was because of it.


	74. GIRRRL TALK

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A/N: Thank you as always for your comments, and for reading! You make my day. Now on to another chapter that turned out long... (oh, and the misspelling of the title _is_ deliberate *g*)

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**CHAPTER 74: GIRRRL TALK**

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Spike walked carefully through the rubble, trying hard not to stumble and fall over anything. There were a lot of dangerous pieces of wood sticking up, so the least trip could turn out fatal and not even his supernatural co-ordination kept him completely safe.

"Sodding bint," he muttered to himself as he steered clear of what appeared to be the charred remains of a desk and tried to avoid his coat getting caught and torn by something. Glory had decided that they would meet at, or rather _in_ the ruins of Sunnydale High, even though she surely had known how it looked there. Maybe she wanted to test his persistence. Or maybe she simply found it amusing to see him stumble across the debris filled schoolyard. Wouldn't surprise him a bit. Sunrise had interrupted their previous little get-together and she had decided this was the perfect place to reconvene. She had _ordered_ him here.

Bitch had a bloody nerve. You don't _order_ William the Bloody anywhere. At least that used to be true, before he degraded from Vampire with a capital 'V' to pathetic has-been.

Spike hissed as he felt a sting in his hand. Bringing the hand up to his face he could see a scratch made by… something… pointy, wooden. This place was worse than a minefield and no _self-respecting_ vampire would gamble their immortality by venturing about here. No, this was more of an _Angel-thing_ to do. Blood welled up and he didn't hesitate before lapping up a stray drop of blood and then suckling the wound.

He turned around as he heard a noise from somewhere in the shadows. If she was there, he couldn't see her… couldn't really smell her, either. Her scent wasn't that of a human, it was fainter, less defined. So all he could to was make his way in the direction he thought was right like a clueless idiot. This bitch was really starting to annoy him.

Creeping as silently as he could through the rubble, his smooth stalk was cut short when he stumbled on and fell headlong to the ground, mere inches from a large piece of wood.

"Bloody hell," he muttered as he got to his feet. Now that piece of wood might very well have ended his eternal life, had he fallen just a little bit more to the left. He heard a cheerful laugh from the shadows.

"Well, I must say… great entrance, precious," Glory smirked. Spike glared at her.

"We here to play 'race Spike through the trashy obstacle course and see how long it takes before he stakes himself', or do you have anything useful to say? And I still ain't your precious." He approached Glory, who stood her ground.

"Ooh, are we a little testy tonight?" Glory asked.

"Cut the crap," Spike said, suddenly serious. "My experience; you stand around and get loud with the talky-talk, spillin' the beans of your evil scheme, the Slayer or some of her pals tend to pick up on it. You have a deal, so talk, and make it snappy." Glory studied him, not sure whether to admire the little wimp for talking straightly at her – she hadn't met many who dared that, or kill him for his insolence.

"Very well," she said finally. "This little deal works one way. You help me make sure that the ritual can take place and I get you what you want."

"What I want being what exactly?" Spike demanded and Glory looked annoyed.

"Sheesh, are all you bloodsuckers brain deficient? I'm a God, sweetness. When I get my powers back there won't be any limits for what I can give you. Money, power, Jacuzzi's brimmed with virgin blood. But to begin with, we talked about having the impairing little gadget in your head removed… didn't we?" Spike tilted his head to the side and looked at her.

"Remove the chip. Without turning me into a sodding vegetable?" Glory smirked.

"It's flesh and wires, Turnip. Not all that complicated. After all, I am a…"

"…God, yeah, cheers, heard that one before. What would I have to do in return then?"

"See here, I don't really care _what_ you do. I'm more… result-oriented, you know? Do what you have to, to make sure that my ritual can go ahead as planned. Killing the Slayer chippie would be a good start, I'm sure," Glory suggested. "Just throwing it out there. Well, I suppose you can't actually get to the living one, but making the already dead one a bit more dead would kind of suit my plans."

Spike frowned. "Mm, yeah, well. Killing Buffy has a tendency of setting off the Meathead Patron that fancies himself her less than significant other in the dust to dust kind of way. Figure if that's the way it goes, I won't really be around to take benefit of your little reward, now, will I?" Glory sighed.

"Do I need to spell this out for you? Kill him, too. It's been a long time coming, hasn't it? You're not much of a big bad these days, are you, golden head? See in my book a vampire is a killer and one that's hung around for over a hundred years and already killed a few Slayers should at least have the basics down."

"Only thing is, like I said, this Slayer's got pals. That's what's make her different. Learned that lesson years ago. And with a few of them being of the human variety, that's saying I can't touch them anymore." Spike paused for a second. "As for killing Angel, I'm all for it, but there's no bloody way of doing that without the Slayer knowing about it these days. And so again with the dust to dust bit." Glory considered that for a second.

"Alright. Fine. Actually, it might be that I need him around for the ceremony itself. 'Around' of course not meaning actually present, but still walking around with his flesh annoyingly attached. Not sure how his being a pile of dust would affect the ritual. It's this blood magic deal, it's a thing. Keeping his cowgirl and the playmates around might actually serve my purpose, keeping him occupied and all."

Spike raised his eyebrows. "So what exactly is your plan now? Kill'em, don't kill'em. Does it even matter to you either way?" Glory shrugged.

"Not really. They're nothing to me, along with the rest of their species. No matter how heroic a fly may suppose himself to be, a fly is still just a fly, you know."

"Right," Spike muttered. "As flies to wanton boys, eh?"

Not big with the Shakespeare Glory ignored his comment. "So here's what I want you to do; stay with the group. Keep doing whatever it is you've been doing before. Observe. Report to me, should they come up with something pivotal, which, let's face it, not really likely. And on the very special day in the near future, you will betray them and make sure that the ritual proceeds without them butting in. You scratch my back, I don't stab yours. Deal?"

Spike seemed to think about it for a few seconds before the corner of his mouth curled into a satisfied smirk.

"Deal."

* * *

Almost five hours after she and Angel split up, Buffy found herself standing at the takeoff that would lead her back to the mansion. She had patrolled four cemeteries, went through the entire town, putting seven vampires in the former-column in the process and ended the patrol with checking the Magic Box – which she was relieved to find dark and empty, and now it didn't seem to be able to put if off any longer. Only thing left to do was to go home.

Home, she thought. Was it really her home? Sure, she had been living there a lot and some of her things – which were very few these days – were there, but right now, she didn't know. What was the definition of 'home', did she even have one? If it was a sheltered place to put down your bedroll then sure, the mansion qualified. But she didn't belong there, and she wouldn't want to live there permanently. The place had too many ghosts. And it was depressing. Add big and dark to the list.

All of the above could just as easily be used to describe Angel, she reflected, but discarded that thought quickly.

In her innocent teen years, before – before everything, she had dreamed of starting a home with Angel sometime, somewhere. Granted it had been a pretty naive, pink-clouded dream, at that point without much thought about real, hard everyday life, far from the morose world view she had these days, but it was a dream she had allowed herself to have again every now and then these last few weeks. The thought of it, of settling down somewhere and make a real life with Angel, no matter how ironic the choice of that word might be now, it had been a comforter, a place of refuge in all of her agony. Maybe it was possible now that one day they would be able to put the past behind them, well not completely of course, but enough to look forward to a future, happy and together.

_Happy._ There was that word again. It wasn't supposed to be synonymous with fear, danger, badness or death. But tonight Angel had reminded her of cold, grim reality and erased one of the few comforting fantasies she had to draw strength from. She hoped he was happy with himself.

She sighed. She knew he wasn't. She knew he hadn't meant to hurt her and that the things he had said came from a good place – from the fact that he cared. But she didn't know what to think anymore. Was he going to leave her again? She wasn't sure she wanted to face him again right now. She didn't know if she would be able to hold it together when she did, and she didn't feel like breaking down and crying in his arms right now. She would like to be done crying over him now.

She knew that he would comfort her, and she would eventually fall asleep in his embrace once again convinced that everything would be better in the morning. He would say that he was sorry, because he always did, and that he didn't mean it like that, because he never did. But she knew Angel well enough to know that if he had felt it was necessary to bring this up now it worried him and he _had_ meant it.

She knew that she was jumping to conclusions and that she was probably overreacting, too. He had said that he was worried, not that he was going to leave her – but she remembered all too well where the serious talk had led the last time. She also knew that if he really decided to go, she would have to be strong. She couldn't grab a hold of his coat and dig her heels in, no, she would have to keep it together, fight the end of the world, again, and, if she survived, move on.

Move on to what, exactly? She had nothing left, except an eternal life that she really had no idea what to do with, not without him. It sounded really pathetic but as it was, it was just the truth.

She was _really_ sick of having to be so damn strong all the time. Being a Slayer… or having been one anyway, people had looked to her strength for years. She had been no more than a child before she was called and she had been yanked out of that world and thrown into one decidedly harder, darker, scarier and more painful where she was forced to cope with a responsibility much bigger than any fifteen-year-old should ever have to carry on her shoulders pretty much overnight if she wanted to survive. Angel might hate himself for turning her and ending her human life but in a lot of ways she had been damned, her fate sealed as early as that afternoon outside of Hemery High.

But dead, undead, or live and kicking didn't seem to matter much. People still required her to be strong. It had been one thing when she had her friends, family and life – that last one not necessarily referring to the pulse part of it, but she had never dealt well with being lonely and estranged.

She looked at the dark road stretching out before her – it wasn't a very long walk to the UC Sunnydale campus. She remembered how glad she had been about that, once upon a time. It was around two years ago and she had just decided that she would attend the college in Sunnydale. Willow had decided to stay as well, and things were going well with her Angel… or so she had thought.

Even though she was still the Slayer and would have to combine her life as _normal college girl_ with battling minions of hell and averting the apocalypse, _again_, she had thought she was heading towards a pretty good, well-functioning-dysfunctional life at that point. Of course, that was before Angel had ripped her heart out and stomped it by telling her that he was breaking up with her and leaving town.

After that, she had gone to see Willow. Even if she hadn't been able to provide some miraculous cure to get Angel to change his mind, she had made things feel a little better, just by being there. Hoping that she would be able to do that again, despite everything that had happened since then, despite fearing that the events of this last year had driven them too far apart for them to connect on that level again Buffy started off down the road, hoping that her friend would still have some answers for her.

Twenty minutes later she found herself in the middle of the close to empty campus, realizing that she wasn't sure where she was going. She remembered that Willow had mentioned having switched rooms sometime after Tara since she couldn't pay for a double by herself, but Buffy had no idea where she had moved. She felt a little guilty about that – her best friend, and she hadn't even cared enough to get her new address. In her defense, being dead had proven to be really time consuming.

The campus was an invasion of her senses. Hundreds of scents and a lot of them strong, _intoxicating_. She wasn't about to delve deeper into exactly what these scents entailed that made them so stimulating, but she could see why vampires would hunt here. Hundreds of teenagers moving about at all hours with their partying and their hormones pumping, blood filled with… no, bad, bad. Buffy shook herself, disgusted at these thoughts. She hadn't been in public or alone much since… she could do it. She could.

How could anyone ever sleep around here? Granted that had been a recurring question even when she had human hearing, but now it was close to unbearable. Music, laughter, voices, heartbeats _everywhere_. She bit the inside of her cheeks hard to divert her senses, but not hard enough to draw blood, which would have the opposite effect. She _could_ do this.

When she managed to focus and push the disturbances out of her mind it wasn't actually very hard to pick Willow's scent out of the din, she must have passed pretty recently, and she started following the trace across the campus until she finally found herself standing outside a door, unsure what to do next.

What if she was wrong? "Hey, does Willow live here? 'Cause I thought I could smell her" didn't sound all that great if the person inside the room turned out not to be Willow. At least someone was there, and awake by the sound of it, despite the late hour. What the hell. If she was wrong she could just skulk away and never show her face there again. Or smile and excuse herself with being recently evil. She knocked.

Maybe fifteen or twenty seconds later, Willow opened the door. Despite the hour she was still fully dressed and Buffy could see several books and what she, with her ignorant eye would simply describe as 'magic stuff' spread all over the bed.

She looked a little surprised to see Buffy there. She wasn't afraid, was she? The look on her face spoke for itself but of course Buffy could also hear her heartbeat speed up and she wished fervently that she had a mute-button she could press. Maybe it wasn't so strange, if she was scared. It had been lifetimes ago… literally… since the two of them had any one-on-one time, and they had barely said two words to each other since Willow restored her soul so what was she supposed to think when she came knocking on her door in the middle of the night, really?

Was that a suspicious look? She cast a glance to the side for a moment, was she looking for a weapon? Buffy swallowed. Now she really knew what it was like to be Angel, when her own friends started eyeing her to decide if she was still ensouled before they invited her in. There was a long beat of silence.

"Oo-kay. I think I know how this is supposed to start. 'Hi', right," she said, shifting, not exactly knowing what else to say.

"Um, hi." The witch didn't smile, but she didn't look angry either. Just uncertain. Not sure how to handle her best friend - should there be an 'ex' before that? – turned vampire showing up on her doorstep at two in the morning. Things never used to be awkward between them. But Buffy supposed that it kind of came with the territory.

"I'm, um, sorry to disturb you so late," Buffy said quietly.

"It's fine, I… I was up." Well, that much was obvious. "Do you – do you wanna, um…" She stepped aside. Buffy took a step forward, but felt the force barrier that told her that she needed more to get permission to enter.

"Um, I… I don't think that was – enough." She averted her eyes in shame. At least she couldn't blush. Willow stared blankly at her for a moment.

"Oh? Oh! Come in." Buffy entered and remained standing awkwardly just inside the door.

"So… did patrol with Angel go alright?" Willow asked after a moment of tongue-tied silence. Buffy still avoided her gaze.

"Not really."

Willow frowned at that reply. She didn't really know what to say, and she felt stupid about it. She and Buffy were supposed to be best friends, why were things so weird between them? Of course, they hadn't had a lot of one-on-one time together lately. In fact, she thought, they hadn't had it in a very long time – say like sometime before Buffy and Angel went to England, months ago. Well, actually, more like before Buffy was ever turned, which was even longer ago. And at that point she had been kind of busy with the magic, and with Tara, and Buffy with Riley… come to think about it, she couldn't even recall the last time they had been together and really talked, but it was much too long ago. Willow wondered sadly how long time it would take for a friendship to fade into 'someone you used to know'.

Of course, there were a number of perfectly justifiable reasons to why they hadn't been close lately. It had been a hell of a year and they had both had a lot of things on their minds. Buffy with the dying, and resurrection, and dying again, oh and the evil, and Angelus and people dying and crazy hellgods…

But still, it wasn't an excuse. _Best friends_ were supposed to stay close during hard times, not drift apart.

"Oh. That's… too bad. Is it… something with Glory?" she said tentatively. Buffy looked so lost where she stood. Willow just wanted to hug her and make her feel better, but she didn't know if it was appropriate. Why_ wouldn't_ it be?

"Not Glory. It's… Angel."

What? Something with Angel that made Buffy look like all fires of hell had been poured over her shoulders. Oh, no… The horrible thought crossed her mind.

"God, Buffy, Angel hasn't…" Buffy snapped her head up, flinching as if she had been struck and the hurt look she gave her made Willow feel like a real jerk – a _mean_ jerk. She hadn't meant to be one, it was just, after the things that had been said in the Magic Box that day and night and now seeing Buffy so hurt… but she shouldn't have gone there, it was insensitive and stupid. She knew Angel well enough to know that perfect happiness wouldn't be an issue now.

_It doesn't always take perfect happiness, though_, a little voice in her head whispered. She resolutely gagged this mental blabbermouth.

"No!" Buffy said, her voice shrill. "God no, why does everyone think that? Can't there ever be a problem that _doesn't_ involve lost souls or world in danger? Why is _everyone_ so negative?"

Willow looked into her eyes, as a best friend trying to figure out what was really going on. She had seen this before, a lot actually. This was the hurt-by-Angel emotional rollercoaster. And this wasn't just about what Xander and Cordelia had said before, that was for sure. She pushed some books out of the way and motioned for Buffy to sit down on the bed and sat as close to her as she seemed comfortable with.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… um. Tell me. What's happened?"

"Everything seems to repeat itself with him, why is that? Is it, like, because he's so old? Good, happy, evil, guilty. Why does he put me through this over and over?"

Her eyes were filling up with tears – again. Willow wasn't sure what to say. Buffy was rambling – she was clearly upset and hurt. Had Angel done something to her? Said something? She had seen her friend cry over him many times, and it was never an easy sight. She couldn't quite grasp that Buffy seemed so broken – everything she had seen of her during the last few days had indicated that she was doing better, that she was well on her way to - _recovering_. What could possibly make her so sad?

And she had been better, but what Willow didn't know was that it was still just a thin layer of ice over dark, troubled water. Healing her psyche, making her what she had been before, if that was even possible, would take a lot longer than a few weeks. Her friends had welcomed back better than Buffy had ever dared to hope, and it had been a big help, but it was still Angel that was her anchorage right now, and what he had said tonight had shaken her to the core.

"I thought things were going well," Buffy continued, sounding so defeated. "And now he's dumping this on me. Will, I don't know if I'll be able to cope if he leaves again." Willow frowned.

"Leave, why would he leave?" Buffy raised her hands in a frustrated gesture.

"You tell me! He said that, that he's afraid about his soul. That one day he won't be able to keep control over it. He's afraid what will happen if he'll lose it again."

"Well… that is pretty understandable, don't you think?" Willow tried to meddle. Buffy shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess. But the answer isn't leaving me! He needs to find a better way of dealing with stuff." Willow nodded, eager to not to let her down now that she had sought her out in the middle of the night, clearly in need of support.

"Absolutely, you're right. Maybe I could do something… a spell?"

"I thought that too. Couldn't you do my soul spell on him?"

"Well I, I… I'm sure I could… I mean I could try anyway, but the problem is, I don't think it'll work if he already has his soul. He's gonna have to… lose it first." She looked unhappily at Buffy.

"Oh." Buffy sounded, clearly disappointed. Of course she is, Willow thought. Buffy had been hoping for a solution, a simple solution to at least one thing in this gigantic mess that was their reality, and she couldn't give it to her.

"Tell you what," Willow said after a moment's silence. "We'll find a way, okay? Maybe I can, um, find a way to make the spell think that the soul is in the ether and simply transform the gypsy curse into the Sumerian thing. Or – or, maybe there is a safe way to extract his soul. I mean, if we take the right precautions, and restrain him, I think it could work. Or there might be another spell altogether, I mean, I've looked before you know, but I have more powers now than I did then. We'll work it out. After the apocalypse, 'kay?" Buffy smiled weakly.

"Thanks Will. Thank you for – caring. I mean, I would understand if you joined the 'hate Angel and keep him away from Buffy' squad, after everything that's happened."

"Buffy… You're my best friend. I mean, I know the world, all our lives, have been kinda…" She broke herself off, now sure how to put it. "The last year has been… I mean, I don't want to call it _'are we sure the Hellmouth didn't already open 'cause this seems very much like Hell on earth'_, but…"

Buffy nodded. "No, no, feel free to. It has been. Not that our lives are usually a walk in the park – more like, a walk in the cemetery, but I usually don't, you know, kick the bucket like three times." She smiled wryly at that. A bit of inappropriate post-post-post mortem humor was a good defense keeping her from thinking about just how tragic the whole thing was.

"Once again it's a turvy-topsy world," Willow offered, blinking away tears of joy and sadness at the same time. She hadn't fully realized how afraid she had been that she would lose her best friend until now. How helpless she had felt when she got to know what had happened to her in England, how she hadn't even been able to see her again until Angelus turned her the second time… how stupid she had felt after the first time she had been turned, not able to talk to her normally. A little normalcy… a little warmth might have been just what Buffy needed back then. Maybe things had turned out different, better, if she had been there for her. Instead she had been wrapped up in her own feelings of weirdness and insecurity when it was Buffy that needed support.

And now, after the killing spree and re-ensouling, they had felt so far apart, little more than strangers. It was wonderful to finally feel that old close friendship and proximity rekindling.

Not even considering how Buffy would react, Willow spread her arms and pulled her into a tight hug. Buffy seemed a little surprised at first and stiffened a bit, but soon the tension vanished and she returned the hug, though she hoped that Willow didn't notice that she kept her head turned away as far as possible. Of course on a conscious level she didn't think of Willow like that, but her consciousness had little to say against her instincts. She hadn't been so close to a living person, practically feeling their pulse pounding against her face since… since Anya. And Xander.

"Uh, Buffy?" Willow puffed a minute later. "Some of us still need to make use of some of that little habit forming thing called oxygen I realize you might find superfluous nowadays…"

"Oh! Ooh, sorry." Buffy released her. "Sorry, 'bout the smoshing, didn't think about that. Just one of many new odd things about being a vampire," she mused. "Like I didn't have enough 'odd' in my life before." Willow nodded, giving her a curious look.

"Is it… you know, is it – cool?" She frowned and shook her head. Wrong word. "Uh, no, I don't mean cool, more like, weird? Creepy?" She rephrased. "The being a vampire thing, I mean." Buffy looked uncomfortable and Willow felt embarrassed. "Or, um, maybe you don't want to talk about it," she quickly added, afraid that she had overstepped her bounds. Buffy frowned slightly and shrugged.

"I don't know… I mean, it is strange, very. Much with the strange. I mean, some of the powers I already had, the super strength and the enhanced healing package and all… But now, there's night vision and super hearing… and I guess being nearly indestructible is cool," she admitted. "That would have been handy of them to include in the Slayer package as well you know." Willow nodded.

"But?"

"There's not that many perks to being in the vampire club," Buffy sighed. "I mean, there's – the lack of sun, for starters. I don't taste, um, stuff like before. The realization that I'm going to live forever…"

"And…" Willow gestured something that should probably mimic fangs and made a growling sound. "The grrr part?"

Buffy debated how to answer that. Could she tell her friend about the bloodlust and predatory instinct that she had no idea for how long she would have to battle to get completely under control or if she ever would? It was frustrating. Just hugging Willow, her friend whom she would never want to hurt, made the demon thrash inside of her, yelling at her to take what she wanted and bite down. Buffy came to the conclusion that while Willow was both understanding and hardened against all things spine-chilling, that might be just a little too disturbing. And she couldn't bear having that knowledge drive her away, not now.

She hated talking about it at all, the vampirism, but she didn't blame Willow for being curious and she would rather have her ask about it than be completely grossed out. After all a big part of friendship was sharing, more importantly showing your friends that you valued and trusted them enough to let them in on certain things, to share your fears and weaknesses. There was no other friend Buffy would rather give that confidence to, but she still didn't feel she could share _quite_ everything with her.

"Yeah, that," Buffy replied finally, sighing. "That's a… a lot. You have no idea what it's like to have a bloodthirsty demon inside of you."

"Buffy, you're starting to sound like Angel." Buffy gave a small smile.

"I know. This vampire thing? _So_ not something I would have chosen, but I think it's made me understand Angel on a whole new level.

"Well, there you go. At least something good has come out of it… Still, I would have preferred if the two of you had just seen a councilor or something, like other couples." Buffy frowned.

"Like who? Dr Kill McGory, 'professor in how you successfully lead a peaceful life with your necktrained vampire'?" Willow smiled, happy to see that Buffy was feeling well enough to joke about it.

"Necktrained? Doctor… McGory?"

"You know, like, housetrained, only, neck… trained." She offered a weak smile.

"I'm really glad to have you back, Buffy." She frowned slightly.

"Back? I've been back for weeks."

"No, I mean – back. Back-back. Really back. I've missed you." Buffy smiled and nodded.

"Me, too."

"So, what are you going to do now? Go see… I mean, are you gonna go see Angel?"

"I guess… I mean, he'll be worried if I don't get home, right?" Willow nodded.

"If I know Angel, yeah. And, with Glory out…"

"You're right." Buffy nodded, then smirked mischievously. "Though, it's temping to let him suffer for the night. Let him think that just maybe his poor girlfriend had a horrible accident on her lonesome patrol…" Willow swallowed hard. Dark, painful memories washed over her. She remembered how worried she had been over Tara before she found her in their dorm room… The clawing agony of not knowing, just knowing that something was wrong, wasn't something she wished for anyone.

"No," she said silently. "He doesn't deserve that." Buffy looked worried.

"Will, did I say something wrong?" Willow forced a slight smile.

"No, of course not. Just… go home to Angel, okay? Knowing him, he'll probably either go insane and start climbing the walls or go out and happen to burn himself to death if you stay out past sunrise. And people that love each other shouldn't… um, they shouldn't be apart. No matter what. "

Buffy nodded slowly, understanding. She wasn't sure if she should say something – but what would that be? 'Oh and yeah, sorry that Tara died?' 'Sorry that I failed to do my inherent duty to protect her?' Maybe she could do a Cordelia impression and go 'sorry about the death and everything; now I'm going home to the person who killed your girlfriend'? The only conclusion Buffy could come to was that while some things needed talking about, some wounds were just still to raw, and talking about them just wouldn't make it any better. She gave Willow's hand a reassuring squeeze before getting up and slowly making her way to the door.

"Um, see you tomorrow, I guess?" Willow nodded.

"We'll do that."


	75. REGRETS, HE'S HAD A FEW

A/N: Sorry about the delay! The RL has been a real bitch the last couple of weeks, this being so literally true, I can't begin to tell you...

* * *

**CHAPTER 75: REGRETS, HE'S HAD A FEW**

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* * *

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Angel paced restlessly back and forth in the mansion's main room, mostly staring into space but occasionally casting weary glances into the fireplace, and above all, scolding himself. He was stupid. Dense. Dumb. Thick. Moronic. An idiot – no, a brainless idiot, especially renowned at the Academy of Boorishness. All hail the king of dunces. Oh, and he could think of a lot of harsher names he deserved being called.

Timing. The word didn't seem to be present in his vocabulary. And he never learned, either. Was it his inner sadist peeking through or was he just that stupid?

There was a time and a place for everything and he had once again chosen the worst of both. Take the girl patrolling and break her heart, it was how it seemed to be with him. Actually, you might as well scratch the first part. Just breaking her heart was what he did best.

His intentions might have been good, but there was no excuse for how he had acted. They had enough on their plate as it was, why should he go and dump this on Buffy right now? The topic had to be raised sooner or later, yes. But it wasn't like his soul was likely to head off anywhere in the coming week. Buffy had been righteously - and _rightfully_ pissed.

Nonetheless, he _did _worry.

Self-control was kind of his motto, had been for over a hundred years. He was very experienced in the area of bridling his desires. But _she_ seemed to affect him more than anyone or anything else ever could. When he was around her, he could feel that control fraying around the edges. _Love_. It might be able to affect a heart even as dead as his own, but it also had a tendency to put his judgment out of action. It was the same for everybody, he supposed. He wasn't the first or only love's fool the universe had known. But when a mistake or a moment of lowered guard could possibly lead to lives being lost – to the world ending; that put his wavering self-control in a whole new category of bad.

_Love_. A cynical person might blow it off as nothing but hormones. Ten years ago, he probably would have. He had spent most of his existence love-less. Not only when he was soulless. His human life hadn't exactly been filled with it either. Between his true-to-her-century oppressed mother, his condemning father and the many 'relations' he had sought at the local taverns, none of it had really taught him much about affection. He had spent one and a half century hating and mocking in the most gruesome and sadistic ways everything love related and then another century where he just couldn't see the point. He had thought for a long time that humans existed only to hurt each other. Even… make that _especially_ those claiming to be in love seemed to end up causing each other grief.

When Buffy came along, she had changed his viewpoint drastically. Being just as new to the area of caring that deeply for another as the sixteen-year-old Slayer had been – more so, even, he had come to learn that love could be a beautiful thing.

Of course, it hadn't been long until he had learned other things. He wasn't meant to love. If the fact that had been seemingly incapable of it for 275 years of existence wasn't enough to convince, the gypsies had made sure that this old dog would not get to change his tricks and that anyone foolish enough to love a monster like him would pay a terrible price. The gypsies had probably known that finding love and even more so to be loved back would be the only thing likely to ever break the curse, and he suspected they had thought it the ultimate vengeance. If he let go of the past enough to feel that kind of happiness, even for just a moment, then their curse had become a back-number. As soon as the presence of the soul stopped plaguing him, it had run its course. And of course whoever meant most to the monster would be the one to pay the highest price. Angel would bet they would have liked the thought of that.

And nothing had changed with his curse. In fact if anything this winter had told them that he was even less safe than they had thought. And ultimately something would have to be done about it. What, he didn't even know himself. It wasn't like he was planning to just up and leave her again… well, he would, if there was absolutely no other way, but he wouldn't be rash this time, he had learned that lesson. If there was any other solution he wanted them to find it together.

But of course he could see where her fears came from. He had left her enough times that she automatically assumed the worst whenever he needed to have a serious talk about their relationship. He could hardly accuse her of overreacting.

Cordelia had put words to his fears tonight. Of course she had… _her own way_ of expressing herself, but nonetheless did she have a point. And she was right that it was all of their business as long as they their lives were all on the line. He had no right to gamble them, or the safety of the world, or Buffy's welfare just so he could love.

Monster that he was, he definitely didn't have that right.

But, still. It was a topic to be raised another day. As far as he knew, the problem could be solved within a few days. He could be dead by then.

It had been over seven hours since they split up now. The sun would be up again in a few hours. He had known better than to follow her – she had clearly told him that she needed space and who was he to disrespect that – but by now he was starting to regret that choice. They hadn't been apart this long since she was re-ensouled. Even though he knew no one more capable of taking care of herself things could still happen. Glory was still out there.

Angel froze in his tracks, listening. She was close. He could hear her footsteps outside – slow, hesitant. He knew she could sense him as well and apparently she wasn't too keen on facing him. He took a few steps in the direction of the door but stopped himself from rushing over there. He didn't want to crowd her.

She entered and gave him a quick look before letting her gaze dart away. He regarded her for a moment. She seemed fine in the sense of not being hurt, but he could tell she wasn't happy, and that what had been said had certainly not been forgotten.

She did, however, not lunge at him with a stake or anything, so he figured it went still better than he deserved.

"Um… hey," he said silently. Buffy nodded and wrapped her arms around herself, defensive-like.

"Hey."

Silence. The quiet crackling from the fireplace was the only noise in the room. Angel thought it was ironic that now, when he should clearly say something, he could think of nothing. Apparently he was mostly just good with the words when he could use them to hurt, whether it was deliberate or not.

"Look, I'm…" Buffy began finally.

"Buffy, I…" Angel said at the same time. Buffy fell silent, looking uncomfortable.

"You first," Angel said.

"I'm… really tired," Buffy said, avoiding meeting his eyes. It was a lie and she suspected he knew it, but frankly she didn't care. She just wanted this day, night, whatever to end. Trying to make an escape before he could say anything else she headed towards the bedroom.

"Wait a minute," Angel called after her.

Damn.

"Buffy, stop. I need to talk to you." She spun around and stared at him, hurt and anger glistering in her eyes.

"Really. You don't think you said enough before?" He looked down.

"That's just it. I want to apologize…"

"Why?" she broke off with heat. "You only said what you felt, right? Why do you think you need to be sorry about that?" Anger was better than hurt. Harsh words were better than tears.

"I'm not," he said, surprising her. She hadn't quite expected that. Angel was big with the sorry-saying, whether there was a reason for it or not, really. "I'm not sorry about the fact that I said it… because you need to know how I feel about this. You've said that yourself, remember? If it's ever going to work between us, we have to be able to talk to each other." Buffy shrugged almost unnoticeably and looked away.

"What I _am_ sorry about," Angel continued, approaching her slowly, carefully, as if still not sure whether that stake might still be coming, "is how and when I said it. It was insensitive. I want to work this out, but now isn't the time. I mean, there is this whole thing with Glory to deal with first. Who knows if we'll even…"

"Great, now you're saying we'll probably all be dead in a week? Gosh, say hello to Mr. Positive Vibe."

"It wasn't exactly what I meant… I'm just saying. We can't be sure of anything."

"I've heard that one a few times by now," Buffy said bitterly, anger quickly dissolving to sadness as she sighed and turned away from him. Angel looked at her. She didn't look angry anymore – just disappointed and so tired – the latter not being the sleepy kind.

He moved over to her soundlessly, putting his hands on her shoulders, not sure if she would reject him.

"I am sorry Buffy, for hurting you, and scaring you. I hope you know it's the last thing I wanted to do. You know how much I want…" he broke himself off, not quite going there. "And I hope that we will be able to."

Buffy considered whether to shrug him off or throw herself in his arms. She knew that he only meant well. She was being selfish again. She knew how much Angel loved her… and if he was so afraid of hurting her again that he was actually ready to walk away from that, to cause them both heartbreak by leaving, she should be understanding, not whining like a baby. She had always said that the big age difference between her and Angel didn't matter – maybe it was about time that she started showing him that. If they were as equal as Buffy had always argued, she shouldn't force him to act like the responsible grown up while she played the part of the selfish kid. She turned around slowly facing him.

"I know," she whispered. As she moved a little in his direction he spread his arms a little, inviting her into his embrace. She surrendered into it, letting him wrap his arms around her. It felt… good. Safe. She had always felt safe in Angel's arms. It was funny, really. A slayer that felt safe and secure in the arms of a vampire known as the Scourge of Europe. Only she had never viewed it like that. He had spent a lot of time over the years going on and on about what she deserved and what he didn't, and it had always frustrated her. He was a vampire with a horrifying and bloodstained past yes, but to her, he was just Angel – a good man that tried his best just like anybody else. He had his problems and his demons just like anybody else… just a little more literal than most people. And now, when she shared that with him, she felt closer to him than ever.

She let her head rest in the crook of his neck, taking in his scent, letting out a small sigh of relief. Everything would be alright. If they could just get through the next few days and the coming battles… somehow everything would be alright.

* * *

Late afternoon the next day. They were all, as usual, gathered at the Magic Box, this time with three out of three vampires present. Spike had showed up wrapped in his blanket, as ever moments from combustion, answering the questions regarding his whereabouts the previous day, and Angel's suggestion that he should have forgotten to come back from the same with insults. Again, as ever.

Willow sat cross-legged on the floor surrounded by pile of magic books, some of which she had brought from home; Giles was behind the counter as the store actually was, on this rare occasion, open for business today. Spike hovered in a dark corner, even though none of them were very sure what exactly he was doing there, but as he told Angel snarkily 'annoying you is more work than you'd think'.

Buffy and Angel sat close together at the large round table, having arrived a few hours earlier. Wesley, Cordelia, Faith and Xander were gathered there as well, engrossed in the research material. Well, at least Wesley was. One could tell Cordelia and Xander had long since lost interest in their books and Faith had never really participated. As she had told Giles, she wasn't sure what she was looking for and would probably not know it even if she did find it. She did have a few books in front of her, though, and buried her face in one of them when one or another, as she put it, 'more nosy-looking' customers hovered in her vicinity. When the store was busier earlier in the day she had made herself scarce, blowing off some steam in the training area. Having the police come after her would be the last thing they needed now.

Buffy glanced at Angel. Things were better. They had talked away the rest of the night and while maybe not having resolved anything it felt good to get things out into the open, to share a meaningful conversation without the tears and the yelling, without the blame-throwing-around, even without the actual punch-throwing. They didn't have a great track record when it came to that.

So he was afraid for his soul. She understood, of course she did. She was afraid for his soul, too, after all. But they had agreed to take things one step at a time. First, there was the end of the world coming up and as Buffy asked Angel, would it be too much to ask for an apocalypse without the heartbreak stuff attached for once?

"We never got around to sharing this with you yesterday, but during our research we did actually manage to uncover something that may be of interest," Giles said, slipping out from behind the counter and striding over to the table. The shop wasn't exactly crowded and only a lonely customer wandered along the shelves near the exit. Angel nodded.

"What is it?"

"It, er, this book speaks of an orb – the Dagon Sphere," Giles explained. Wesley held up a book with a picture for them to see.

"What does it do?" Buffy queried, glancing at the sketch of the glow ball-like thing.

"It's very old, a protective device, used to ward off ancient primordial evil. More specifically, it was created by the, er, the Brethren of Dagon and its purpose is to repel 'That Which Cannot Be Named'".

"The 'which' being Glory," Willow filled in.

"That being true in more than one way," Xander cut in muttering. Off Willow's look, he quickly added, "but not the nice kind, of course. Not the Wicca, love the earth, women powery, greater good kind."

"Got that right, mister," Willow nodded.

"Yes, best we can discern it refers to Glory," Giles agreed, ignoring the exchange. "Unfortunately the only chance of acquiring this Sphere is supposedly to go straightly to the source, and we have no idea how to get in touch with the brethren."

Buffy glanced at Angel who seemed to be even deeper in thoughts than usual, his face conveying no emotion.

"Angel," she said, nudging him softly. "What's with the pensive-look?" Angel swallowed, glancing at Giles.

"Did you say Brethren of Dagon?" Giles nodded.

"Yes, yes I did. Do you know anything about them?" Angel nodded hesitantly.

"The Order of Dagon," he began, "they used to have dealings with the nun's around these parts. Not in modern day exactly, but in the past. The elders might remember, or at least have been told the stories. The Dagon Sphere connects the brethren to Glory, somehow. The fact that Glory came _here_ specifically to look for her mystical Key last fall – well, that might be another link, and one that puts our nuns in the mix. My bet is, if we want the inside scoop on the brethren we need to seek out the sisters of the Sacred Sun."

"How come you know so much about nuns and shit, Angel?" Faith piped in, speaking for the first time in a good while. Though at Angel's uneasy expression, she regretted the question.

"He has a _thing_ for convents, or so he told us once," Cordelia provided helpfully. "Has, or had. Not sure what effect the soul aspect has on that particular obsession."

"Cordelia…" Wesley muttered under his breath. She shrugged.

"What? Seemed like it was of significance for the topic at hand."

"I didn't even know that there was a convent in Sunnydale?" Willow said.

"There is," Giles said. "The Sacred Sun is located near Miss Porter's school for girls a distance outside of town. It-it made rather big headlines a couple of years back, actually. Several of the sisters were killed in what was classified as an accident of some sort." He paused, thinking back. "I cannot recall any details but was three years ago or so, perhaps in March or April…" he faltered, meeting Angel's gaze. "Oh," he sounded almost inaudibly.

"What? What do you mean by… oh. Ah." Realization dawned on Xander and an uncomfortable silence filled the room when the others caught up with him.

Well, it was true, they hadn't been able to monitor even close to all the moves Angelus had made that spring, especially not after Jenny. Not that anyone had _thought_ that he had been at home knitting the days or weeks at a time when they heard nothing from him, but it had never been discussed. A definite let's-not-go-there topic.

"Oh, come on," Spike snarked from his corner, ending the silence. "Nun's were always his things back in the day. Only one of his bloody obsessions. He shrugs off the soul in present day and you're going all boohoo over the fact that he took up his old hobbies? Angelus never was much for the new. So aren't you lot just unbelievably…"

"…willing to smack you 'til your eyeballs switch sockets?" Xander filled in. "Oh, yeah."

"Funny, Harris," Spike puffed. "'Specially coming from you. Truth hurts, doesn't it?"

"Not as much as my fist," Buffy said sharply. Far be it for a thing like this to faze her. After everything they had been through in the last year, after everything _she_ had done, some horrible thing Angelus had done three years ago just didn't make the list. She already knew that he hadn't exactly been home alphabetizing his sins between their encounters. But nonetheless she knew it affected him – bringing up his past always did, and especially in front of people he had wronged, and most people in this room had their own clear and painful memories from that period.

But Spike merely grinned. "Promise?"

"Alright, that's… that's quite enough," Giles said, trying to prevent old and painful memories from stirring up by focusing on this new piece of information and how it could aid them. "Angel, I think you're right. We need to visit with the sisters, see if they have any information of interest to share." Angel nodded briefly.

"We'll go as soon as the sun sets."

* * *

"This is it, huh?" As soon as Angel stopped his car in the parking lot outside the convent Faith leapt out of the backseat, studying the large building with interest. A big house where a bunch of chicks with something in common were cramming together – it kinda reminded her of prison, actually. Only with the chicks having their God-loving in common instead of being criminals, and a little less of the fenced yard bit. Oh, and wimples and robes instead of the most attractive prison overalls. She thought about it for a second.

Prison seemed like the better choice.

Angel, Buffy and Giles got out of the car as well. It wasn't like they actually needed four people to go meet some bitty nun's – it was just, they feared that the sisters might not take so well to Angel, despite that his soul-o-meter was now pointing firmly at 'full', as opposed to the last time he visited. And if it was so, the sight of Buffy at his side probably wouldn't help. Therefore Faith and Giles were tagging along as the human factor.

"Boy, will we be sticking out like sore thumbs in this place," Buffy grimaced. "I feel like we should introduce ourselves as the Oddly Quartette or something. We're _really_ not fitting in here. I mean, two vampires, a man – you know, a _Giles_-shaped man but still. And _Faith_."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" the other Slayer inquired, somewhat amused.

"Well, let's just say it's not like you're big on the abjuring of men that they're so fond of here, are you?" Buffy muttered.

"Hey, I've been in prison for almost a year and in a coma for another 8 months, so I would say I'm more with the – whatever word it was you just used – of men, than yourself," Faith shot back, smirking.

"Truly a fascinating debate," Giles said dryly, "but perhaps we should move on to the reason why we're here?"

"Good thinking," Angel agreed, eager to get this over with, recalling the last time he had been here.

The four of them spotted a group of nuns that moved hurriedly across the courtyard.

"So I guess we just walk up to them, right?" Buffy said as they started off slowly towards the group. "I mean, what's the worst they can do? Those robes might be puffy enough to hide stakes, crossbows and the occasional flamethrower under in _theory_ but… I doubt they'll be packing anything beyond rosaries and bibles, don't you think?"

"Don't they have like fountain-full's of holy water in places like this?" Faith suggested, shrugging, looking around. "Would be smart, I mean. If the undead show up, just give 'em a little push and it's sizzlers all around."

"Thanks, Faith," Buffy said, faking a sweet smile. "I'll be holding on to that image."

The group of nun's stopped in their tracks when they spotted them coming. Buffy wasn't sure if they were afraid because they knew what they were, if they recognized Angel or if company at this hour was simply so unusual here that it merited staring-and-freezing-in-tracks whomever the visitors might be. An older woman stepped forward, her face wrinkled but her eyes hard, her expression grim. She stood between her group and the strangers, clasping a large wooden cross tightly and holding it up at them.

So. Recognition-time it was then, Buffy thought. Should be a nice reunion.

It was clear that she recognized him, and Angel recognized her as well. He was pretty sure her name was Sister Catherine, but it wasn't her name he remembered best. _Names_ were rarely what represented his strongest memories of past victims after all.

The reason he recalled her face so clearly was because remembered how the blood from one of her sisters had splattered over her face when he slit her throat. He remembered how she had clasped her rosary when she ran towards the prayer room and how gleefully he had let her escape, watching her go, knowing that he horrors that would haunt her for the rest of her life when she fell upon the surprise he had arranged in that room would be worse than any physical wounds he could inflict on her, and how it was certainly more interesting than simple death.

"I would think it wisest for you and yours to stay far away from this place," the sister spoke coldly when it was only 20 feet or so between the groups. "We may not have the physical strength to defend ourselves adequately but this is a house of God. Everything here opposes creatures as yourselves."

"See," Faith hissed under her breath, nudging Buffy. "Soon she'll be inching you towards that fountain."

"It's, ah, it's not what you think," Giles said, stepping in front of the others. "Please, Sister, you can put that cross down. We're here as friends." There was the faintest hint of a sarcastic smile on the old woman's face.

"If that statement wasn't so macabre, I would find it amusing," she said. Giles moved closer towards the woman, not flinching or looking away even slightly when facing the cross. He didn't know if that was the reason she seemed to relax or if she, given her age and faith, could somehow sense that he wasn't a vampire.

"I'm not sure whether or not I should take pity on you for dealing with these creatures so remorselessly, knowing what they are capable of," Sister Catherine mused.

"I know what they are and what they are capable of, yes," Giles agreed. "_Believe_ me, I know." Images of Jenny's dead body flashed before his eyes and he unconsciously moved his left hand, flexing the fingers that had never completely regained their full function after the nerve damage Angelus had inflicted when he broke them.

"I also know that, when en-souled, they have done more good than a lot of ordinary humans, even such humans that call themselves righteous or believing," he continued calmly, not flinching for a second. He swallowed before he continued, somewhat uneasily, but forcing his tone calm and even. "I also know that it was Angel's idea to come here, to ask your help despite it meaning that he had to confess his crimes to us all and to face you again." Sister Catherine snorted scornfully.

"Do you know what that thing did?" she spoke with disgust. "In one single night he murdered twenty of our sisters. Desecrated their bodies. Tore them apart. Left them for display. That murderous demon is not _worthy_ of the blessing of a human soul, nor does its presence redeem him."

"I would know no person who would agree with you more on that than Angel himself," Giles said sincerely, glancing to the side. Angel, Buffy and Faith had walked up to him.

"I'm not here to ask your forgiveness," Angel spoke. "I wouldn't presume myself worthy of that. And I'm not asking you to trust me – but you have to trust that we share a common enemy, and the reason why we are here tonight is that we think maybe you can help us to defeat it."

Sister Catherine studied him silently for a long while. She wasn't so foolish that she couldn't see the difference between this man and the purely demonic sadist that had rained destruction over her Sisters three years ago.

This was a man that tried, that sought redemption in whatever way he could even though he must know that he would never be able to even the scale – there was no such thing with lives after all. His evils would never be repented for and certainly never eradicated and yet he tried to make amends.

There was something honorable about that, she had to admit. And, being a woman of God, she had to give any man who tried to absolve his sins credit, even one who was a demon.

"Very well," she said finally. "Sister Mary will show you into the parlor. We can speak there."


	76. FOR EVER AND FOUR DAYS

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**CHAPTER 76: FOR EVER AND FOUR DAYS**

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Sister Mary who was a young, mousy-looking girl with golden blond hair and large, wet eyes that seemed like they always looked worried – or maybe it was just the company, Angel thought, led them through a long corridor with huge murals of Christ and other characters of religious significance covering all the walls into the parlor, murmuring something about Sister Catherine joining them shortly and please take a seat before quickly closing the door behind them and scurrying away.

Angel and Buffy sat down uneasily, looking around with a slight feeling of innate anxiety. There were several crosses on the walls. Giles took a seat on the edge of a chair and Faith remained standing, fiddling with some small artifacts and studying the books in the bookcases.

"Man," she muttered. "This is one shit-load of a bible collection. You could drown someone in 'em."

"Again with the nice imagery," Buffy commented, trying her best to appear unaffected by a large crucifix on the wall just next to where she sat.

She wasn't sure what unnerved her most, the fact that it felt so natural for her who had been Chosen to fight demons to avoid the religious symbols that were supposed to be on her side or the fact that she had a demon inside her that reacted this way, that made sure she would be instantly burned if she lay as much as a finger on the cross.

She hated that it felt natural, and she hated that the demon inside her was making its presence known by these feelings. She hated how dirty and ashamed she felt, and she hated the fact that she knew that Giles could see exactly how she felt no matter how well she tried to hide it. She didn't want him to see her like this – she didn't want anyone to, but it was especially hard with him. Not only was he the closest thing she had left to a parent in the world but he had been her watcher, and she had failed him.

Every Slayer eventually faces some beast that gets the better of her, it's kind of part of the deal, but not all let themselves be turned – or killed twice, well, three times kind of, in one year. They still referred to her as the Slayer, but she couldn't see in what way she was worthy of that title anymore.

She glanced at Faith. She was the Slayer. Officially and, well, truly. She was the only living Slayer, just as it was meant to be. Faith had given in to the darkness and abandoned everything her powers stood for, used them for evil and she didn't even have a demon or the lack of a soul to blame it on – but she had come back from it. Even after all this time it was kind of hard for her to admit it, but Faith had turned out to be a good Slayer and no matter how hurt she had been by it at the time, she knew that Angel had played a pivotal role in her rehabilitation.

Faith wasn't self-righteous about it. This wasn't born-again-Slayer standing before her - Faith was changed, yet not. Buffy looked down on her hands and tried not to think about how much - _and_ how little alike they were.

Angel sat very still next to Buffy, staring at the floor. He didn't have anything to say – so he stayed silent. The religious symbols might not be able to hurt him as soon as he kept his distance, but he definitely didn't feel comfortable in their vicinity. No vampire did. The soul made no difference in that aspect. Being in this place specifically didn't exactly help either.

Sister Catherine entered and sat down without a word, looking expectantly at them and threw a glance at Buffy and Angel. She might have allowed them inside, but she wasn't happy with them being there, that much was clear.

"So," the Sister began, breaking the silence, "you had a specific matter to discuss?"

"Yes. The reason why we are here is this," Giles said, showing her the book in which they had found the references to the brethren of Dagon and the Dagon Sphere. Sister Catherine nodded.

"You are facing the Beast then, are you," she noted evenly.

"If by the Beast you mean Glorificus, then yes," Giles confirmed. "Apparently this, this device weakens her and we reckon that we will need every bit of advantage if we're going to have a chance to prevail against her."

"That is certainly so," the Sister nodded. "But even if you have the Sphere in your possession, I fear you are in over your heads in this."

"You don't know that," Faith protested.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed, speaking for the first time in the Sister's presence. "I mean, we've been up against some hairy fiends over the past few years."

"We have to try at least," Angel said silently. The Sister was silent for a few moments, looking at them, regarding them.

"What exactly do you know about the Beast; Glorificus, as you call her?"

"Hellgod," Faith provided. "One from a trio of hellgods, but she was tossed out on her ass. Took some downtime to cook up a wicked revenge plan but seems to have misplaced the lock-pick thing she needs to carve her way through dimensions back home. And now she's really pissed."

"Yes, well, that is a short but most colorful description, is it not," the Sister murmured. "But it is essentially correct. Our old allies, the Order of Dagon were the keepers of the Key for many centuries. The order was founded in the 12th century."

"We've been hearing about this Key kind of incessantly, but _what_ is it? _Where_ is it?" Buffy cut in. Catherine shook her head.

"We don't know. Some of the brethren were seeking sanctuary here with us when they were intercepted by the abomination this winter. They sought the Slayer; that's why they were here. They needed her to protect it." She looked at Buffy firmly. "But they never got to her."

"I didn't even know anyone was looking for me," Buffy defended herself. "I would have been glad to take the key-thing off their hands if they had just given it to me. I could have destroyed it if it was so dangerous or locked it in a safe or whatever. But they never told me. Plus, I've been kind of busy with the being dead and even deader."

"This is of no importance now," Catherine continued. "The Key no longer exists on this plane. Whether it has been destroyed, moved into a different realm or simply hidden is as little to our knowledge as it is to the Beast."

"But the god-chick has other plans and that's where the round thing gets important," Faith said. "The girl's got a yen for the Hellmouth flappin' its ugly jaws and we're kinda looking to stop her from making that happen. So if you know were it is, why not just hand it over?"

"The Dagon Sphere was never in our possession. We do not know where it is or if it's even viable anymore."

"But you can find out?" Buffy asked. "Do the hokey-pokey and call it forth, or something?"

"No. Such magic's are not within our grasp. But I might know of a sorcerer with enough power to help you."

"Who is he?" Angel inquired.

"He is not a friend of ours, and if what you say is really true, that you work for the forces of good now, nor is he one of yours. But more to the point; he considers the Beast an adversary, and he does have the powers to bring forth the Sphere from the time and place it was lost. His name is Hayalet."

"Hayalet?" Giles repeated.

"You know him?" Faith asked. Giles shrugged.

"Only by reputation. He's very old and his name, er, it means 'ghost' in Turkish."

"That's chipper," Buffy commented. "Is he evil?"

"He's – I don't think he would think of himself as strictly _evil_. But of course, there are degrees of evil. He's human, not a demon, at least not per strict definition, but he has used the black arts to extend the length of his own life far beyond the natural. He uses his powers for self gain and will therefore probably aid anyone who shares his interests."

"So he might help us," Angel said. Giles nodded.

"He _might_, certainly."

"Only one way to find out," Buffy spoke as they got up from their seats, "we ask. And if he refuses I've got plenty of pent up persuasive pummeling to hand out." She smiled but it faded quickly when she met the Sister's steely gaze.

"I was kidding about the last part," she said in a small voice, silently counting the lines around the Sisters mouth, wondering if her face might just crack if she tried to smile. "I think. Mostly. Uh, God bless."

"Yes, yes well." The Sister wrote the address of Hayalet neatly on a piece of paper and handed it to Angel.

"I wish you good luck on your mission, vampire. I truly hope that you prevail in your battle against the Beast."

"Thanks," Angel said, glancing at the note before putting it in his pocket.

"Don't thank me," the Sister said. "I will not have your gratitude. This is not forgiveness; it is merely a wish of good luck on account of what you are seeking to accomplish, for the sake of the world and not for personal gain, despite what you are." Angel nodded silently and she went on.

"Truthfully, utter and absolute forgiveness is not something you ought to have. The ones you hold dear might be able to forgive you, but you cannot ever forgive yourself, not necessarily because your soul does not deserve it, but because such a state of mind will allow your demon free reign once again. Is this not true?"

"You don't need to worry," Angel muttered, starting to leave, not particularly wanting to elaborate on the subject. As if he hadn't had enough of it in the last couple of days. "Even if I should happen to live until the end of days, I'll never forgive myself completely."

"Hallelujah," Faith said, watching him and Buffy exit. "Though that last thing would probably have been more convincing if it wasn't for the fact that the end of days might be, like, four days away."

* * *

"So this is it?" Buffy stared at the dark door. "This is where Haywire lives?" The two of them had gone to seek out the sorcerer while Giles and Faith headed back to the Magic Box to update the others.

"Hayalet," Angel corrected automatically. "It's the address the sisters provided, anyway," he shrugged, glancing again at the note even though he already knew what it said. "Although, I'm not ruling out the possibility that they'd want to send me directly into the gaping mouth of some hell beast instead," he muttered.

"Must be a pretty _rico y suave_ hell beast if it lives here," Buffy noted, looking around. "It's not exactly screaming slimes-ahoy." Well, that much was true. They weren't exactly standing outside a dingy underground lair or a crypt. It was a nice house, old in structure. Perhaps a renovated church, Angel thought as he felt a special kind of tingle when he looked up at its exterior. Not enough to bother him, exactly, but still sending a special sort of awareness through every fiber of his being.

"Only one way to find out," Angel settled, giving the door a loud knock. They waited.

And waited.

The man that faced them when the door swung open didn't exactly _look_ like a powerful sorcerer. Medium length, skinny body with pasty, pale skin and long, splintered nails. A cascade of ill-kept steel gray hair on his head was sloppily framing his face. And what a mug it was. Buffy stared in fascination at the asperity of his face, which held scars and numerous… _dippy things_… she would describe as, well, maybe really bad acne scarring.

"Greetings." The voice was raspy and somewhat quavering. The man eyed them, his gaze lingering on Angel with a hint of admiration. His thin lips curled up into a slight smirk. "Ahh. _Angelus_. You may enter."

"Actually, it's just Angel," the vampire replied somewhat uneasily as they stepped inside. Hayalet's expression hardened, admiration turning to disgust.

"Aack! Wretched, rash, intruding fool, I bid thee farewell! I took thee for thy better. I shalt spit upon thy name!" he hissed, doing just that. Angel blinked, trying to hide his amusement at this fierce and somewhat disgusting show of repulsion.

"Easy, Robanda-boy, it seems we have an enemy in common," Buffy cut in. The man quirked a bushy brow, which was just as gray as the rest of his hair.

"Yes? Then why is it, if you call this wretched, distorted creature an enemy that you linger so close in his vicinity?" He looked as if he was going to spit again, but he didn't. Buffy frowned.

"_Angel_'s not my enemy," she protested. Hayalet stared knowingly at her, smirking.

"Not at all times, at least," he replied. "You share deep affection, hatred, and everything in between." He paused for a second. "And death. _Passion_. The source of many fine moments, yes?" he smirked, looking directly at Angel.

"I think you need a crystal ball and some tarot cards to pull that crap off," Buffy shot back, crossing her arms over her chest. "Can we get back to the point?"

"To get back to the 'point' as you put it would require that you had one. But very well," the man said finally, fetching a kettle from a small table next to the stove and putting it on the low coffee table next to where Angel and Buffy were standing. He sat down in a chair with a groan, waving in the general direction of a sofa, offering them a seat. "Come then, if you must. Sit. Tell me about this enemy." They glanced briefly at each other, sharing the desire to remain standing but the man looked commandingly at them and they hesitantly sat down, half expecting a trapdoor to open and swallow the whole couch with them in it. The springs in the couch creaked ominously, but that was it.

"Where are my manners," Hayalet said, tapping his forehead with two bony fingers. "Can I offer you some herbal tea?" His mouth curled into a smug smile and Angel's gaze roamed across the room, instantly settling on a half-filled jug sitting on the same table from where he fetched the kettle. The jug had a cross on it. He nudged Buffy in the side and heard her sniff when she saw the same thing he did.

"We're fine, thank you," Angel smiled sourly.

"So be it." The man looked a bit disappointed. "Now, before my age gets the better of me. You spoke of an enemy."

"Yes," Buffy said urgently. "Enemy. Hellgod, to be more precise. Seems to go by the name of Glorificus." The man looked as if he had just gotten something disgusting in his mouth and nodded.

"Yes," he said with heat, his face contorting. "The Beast," he spoke with disgust. "A most vile, treacherous, wretched…"

"Please don't spit again," Buffy interrupted him sweetly, ignoring the chilly glare she got as a response.

"We're after something called the Dagon Sphere," Angel cut in, eager to get to the point. "We spoke with the sisters at the Sacred Sun Convent, who said that the Sphere was supposed to have been handed over to the Slayer to fight Glory, but she never got it and it vanished." He paused for a second. "Supposedly you're possessing powers that would allow you to bring it forth from the time and place it was lost."

"The Dagon Sphere, ah, yes. Truly a potent weapon when facing the Beast." He took a sip of his tea. "And you wish me to aid you in its retrieval – because the Slayer did not manage to get her hands on it when she had her chance."

"That's the long and short of it," Angel replied, giving Buffy a quick look. Hayalet leaned in closer, narrowing his eyes and studying Buffy.

"My old eyes are not deceiving me, are they? This _is_ the Slayer." He gave Angel an appreciative look. "She wears your mark. The Slayer; claimed and turned by Angelus. Truly magnificent." Angel swallowed hard, unable to muster up a suitable reply.

"Hmm, yes." The man looked at Buffy for a few more seconds and then got up from his seat, his joints creaking as he did so. Without another word he shuffled into the next room, rummaging around somewhere in a closet, muttering something to himself.

"This is very comforting, don't you think," Buffy whispered under her breath. "Pimple-scars over there gets all spitty knowing that you're ensouled. Why would he want to help us? 10-to-1 he turns us into rats or something. And believe me; the world has seen enough of the Buffy Rat. Willow can put us in the cage with Amy and we can spend our last four days taking turns on the little wheel thingy."

He quirked a brow. "The Buffy Rat?"

She shrugged. "Right. You happened to miss that one in the line of many a tragic events that make up my life. Love spell _and_ getting turned into a rat? Not one of my best days." And receiving creepy messages from the soulless version of her lover and for the first time diving deeply into the history and character of Angelus, courtesy of Giles and his books, she thought, but refrained from mentioning that particular footnote. So not the time to traipse down memory lane.

"Love spell," he murmured, frowning as something stirred in his memory. "Oh. Xander?"

"Right," she agreed hastily, inwardly cursing his memory and ability to connect the dots, not wanting to ask how he knew that. Maybe someone had just mentioned it to him. "The point is, _rats_ aren't really good for stopping the apocalypse, as far as I know, so it would be really bad if that happened, and not just because I'm so not a sawdust kind of girl. I don't trust this guy."

"Ever heard the phrase 'the enemy of my enemy'? Good versus evil isn't exactly a hockey game, Buffy, either you're on one team or the other – it doesn't work like that. Just because he's not exactly on our side doesn't mean he doesn't want to see Glory in the ground."

"I guess," Buffy muttered, recalling when Spike became her unlikely ally a few years back. "Any port in an apocalypse, I guess," she shrugged. Angel nodded.

"We use whatever resources we have to," he agreed.

"But he tried to offer us tea made with holy water!" she hissed again. "What's next, garlic d'oeuvres?" she was silent for a moment, then frowned. "…did you say… hockey game? You're a – don't tell me you're a fan?"

"What? I, uh, no. I mean, I've watched some games. It's not that bad, you know. It's really, uh…"

"Violent? Wait, I knew this. That you have a thing for dead guys on ice, I mean. Maybe I should have taken you to that ice show… though it's generally bloodless."

Angel hushed her as Hayalet moved back into the room, maybe thankful for the interruption.

"It is generally not in my nature to indulge the whims of such lowly creatures as vampires," he explained, setting down some ingredients and a book on the floor, slowly sitting down, making Buffy wonder if he would ever be able to get up again. "But for _Angelus_ and his turned Slayer, I feel prompted to make an exception, especially if it would aid you in taking out my most detested enemy. I shall bring forth the item which you desire."


	77. SWORDPLAY

Sorry about the late update, haven't abandoned the story or anything, just had a big lack of time and inspiration lately. But more is coming. Some reviews always tends to speed up the process. ;)

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**CHAPTER 77: SWORDPLAY  
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* * *

  
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"Another day, another defilement," Spike said as he entered the Magic Box, pulling off the blanket that was carefully wrapped around his body. He then proceeded to take one last draw from his cigarette before promptly putting it out in a flowerpot sitting near the cash register. He smirked at Angel who gave him an annoyed glare from his position at the table. "Wouldn't you say, pops?"

"If by that you mean that you robbed some poor Arabic woman of her burka, then yeah," Xander said, glancing at the discarded blanket on the floor. "Very manly. How do you manage to smoke in that thing anyway?"

"My mistake. In this company it should be another day, another _failure_," Spike replied with a grin.

"What are you _doing_?" Giles hissed at him, removing the cigarette butt and giving the vampire a dirty glare. "This is M'Fumsheska weed. It's worth 500 dollars a pound!"

"Weed, eh? Wouldn't have pegged you for the type."

"Not that kind. The M'Fumsheska weed grows along the spine of the M'Fumsheska beast, which dwells only in the swamps of Bangweulu, and it's rather well known for its medicinal…"

"Didn't much care. Should've put it away then if it's so valuable."

"Despite popular belief this is a magic _shop_," Giles muttered. "How do you suggest I pay the bills, not to mention the constant damages around here if I have to hide the merchandise?"

Spike blinked, offering an amused smirk. "Sure you want _my_ financial advice?"

"I'm sure he doesn't," Cordelia cut in before Giles could answer. "And, if you'd start giving us ten minutes notice before you show up I'm sure he _would_ put away all the valuables," Cordelia supplied. "God, you're like an obnoxious drunk screaming outside the liquor store, a dog without housetraining and a three-year-old with sticky fingers, all wrapped into one."

Spike grinned wickedly at that. "Cheers." Cordelia rolled her eyes.

"Did you want anything in particular, or shouldn't I have to ask?" Angel said dryly.

"Giving you a headache, old man? Shouldn't you be tucked into beddy-bye at this time of day?"

"Some of us are trying to save the world here, Spike. Tiring enough without you around."

"Can see why you'd think that. After all, _ending_ it is what's coming natural to you, eh?"

"Sometimes you have to have patience with things that annoy you," Cordelia said, directed at Angel, rolling her eyes, again. "I do speak from experience."

"Doing my best, but it _would_ be easier if you lot weren't so, well, _annoying_," Spike said. His gaze travelled the room and settled on an object sitting in the middle of the table. Slightly bigger than a baseball in size the thing looked cheap, insignificant, but going by the way Buffy was watching it, it was anything but.

"This the god-repellent, then," he said, approaching, noticing Angel stiffen when he extended a hand to pick it up and letting his hand fall to the table instead. "Doesn't look like much. Not very ballsy if you know what I mean, and I'm sure you do," Spike smirked at his grandsire.

"Neither does the wooden stake I have in my pocket, but I can still think of a couple of ways to kill you with it," Angel shot back. Spike shrugged and pulled out a chair to sit down a distance away from the table. Not like he was a ruddy team member.

"Like I said, before the interruption," Wesley said with a look at Spike as he put a notepad filled with scribbling down on the table. "I have made several phone calls and I think I've gotten the information I need, which is concerning the whereabouts of a weapon that would be of aid to us in the coming battle against Glory. The sword of Hephaestus."

"He-fest-who?" Cordelia said.

"He-fest-us?" Faith sounded out from her position leaned against the ladder leading up to the loft.

"Hugh Hefner?" Xander said in bewilderment. Wesley looked tired.

"The Greek god of fire and crafts. The power of his creations is mythic. Almost any finely-wrought metalwork imbued with powers that appears in Greek myth is said to have been forged by Hephaestus. It should be just what we need to fight Glory. A weapon forged by a God, to be used against a God. More to the point, since we haven't much time; the sword is here in Sunnydale. It was brought here a few years ago, by the El Eliminati order."

"Wait, I remember them," Buffy said. "Sword-guys. Worshipped El-Tubbo-Grande?"

"Yes… quite. Anyhow, they brought the sword here to give to Balthazar once his strength returned… supposedly." Wesley winced as he recalled this early demonic meeting of his that wasn't exactly one he was proud of. That night he had accomplished getting captured and taken hostage, breaking down and begging for his life and losing one of the Slayers he was responsible for. He believed that his incompetence had been one of the things to drive Faith away and onto the destructive path she had chosen… and his actions afterwards had ruined the last chance Angel and the others had of getting her back from there.

He remembered the first time he had spoken to his father after that debacle. It hadn't been his words that had hurt the most, but his tone. He had been – calm. Now, he had always mastered the silent rage. The measured cold in his voice had turned Wesley right back into the six-year-old who had watched his mother sit and cry quietly at the kitchen table because her son was locked under the stairs by his father for one or another mistake or disobedience, the eight-year-old who hadn't dared going home after school because he had only finished second in a spelling competition.

His father had always demanded perfection and Wesley, adept as he was, had never quite measured up. Wesley knew his father's place within the Council had been of vital importance for his being entrusted with not one but two charges of his own - and his father had never forgiven him for that betrayal of trust.

Now his father was dead and he felt… nothing. As a child he had been much too oppressed to even think ill of his father, fearing that the man who seemed to know everything would somehow even know his thoughts, but in his teens he had sometimes dreamed of the day. He would have thought it to be more liberating.

"What did he need a sword of a God for?"

"Uh… huh?" Brought out of his thoughts, Wesley mentally shook himself. No time for this. "To take on Mayor Wilkins, perhaps? In any case, the sword should still be here. We… you… uh, most of the Eliminati were killed and I doubt very much that someone else would have tracked down the sword and retrieved it."

"So this sword. Would it kill Glory?"

"It's doubtful, but if my theories are correct, it should at least be able to do her some damage."

"I'm all for damage. I like her damaged. Do we know where it is, then?" Buffy asked. "Don't tell me we're gonna have to search through every single crypt in Sunnydale, 'cause… this is a crypty kind of town. We'd be at it 'til the end if time." Pause. "You know, even if that was more than a few days away."

"No, not at all. The sword is hidden in a cave near the beach, and I have a good lead as to which one. I did extensive research on Balthazar and the Eliminati before I came here, and a contact of mine who has dedicated most of his career to researching the Greek gods and their mythology has pointed us in the right direction. "

"Well, then, good. Sounds nice and simple. Get in, get sword, get out." She looked at Wesley whose gaze said it all. "Or not. What's the catch?"

"The sword is… protected. It's too valuable and too powerful to just leave lying around, and for the same reason the order didn't want to carry it with them. No, it's well guarded. That cave is going to be a challenge to get into. If it had just been a matter of popping in and grabbing it someone would have retrieved if long before now. There are still some worshippers of the Greek gods around, and certainly beings who would like to wield a weapon of that magnitude. Demons _and_ humans."

"Yeah, probably slugs, too," Buffy muttered.

"So what kind of challenge are we talking?" Angel asked. "Armed guards… trap doors… labyrinth? Booby traps?"

"I wouldn't know, but my contacts informed me that getting in and out of that cave would require strength of the body, as well as the mind. I imagine it will require both cunning and… brute force. On top of everything else the cave is a mystical hotspot."

"Well, we pretty much got the force part down," Angel shrugged.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed. "Pummelling stuff is pretty much the same whatever it is. But strength of the mind? That could mean anything."

"So who gets to join the field trip party?" Faith asked. "'Cause I'm thinking, all of us? Just a little too much class trip for the occasion, you know."

"Well, I'm volunteering to stay behind," Cordelia proclaimed. "And if this is gonna be an Indiana Jones kind of deal we have a few more who should sit tight and hold the fort," she added, nudging Wesley and nodding in Xander's direction.

"Cordelia…" Wesley protested weakly.

"Nuh-huh. I've seen you wince when you lift heavy stuff. And you won't be of much use when the big fight is coming up if your ribs go all wishbone on us tonight now, will you?"

"Very persuasive point," Wesley admitted with a grimace. "But since we don't know what challenges will be in stall, beyond the strictly physical, perhaps Giles should…"

"Not having much faith in Angel's and my brainpower, huh?" Buffy asked, wryly. Spike made a strange noise somewhere between a cough, a snicker and a snort.

"No it's fine," Angel said smoothly, ignoring Spike. "We don't know what it means. Could be riddles, could be obscure languages or twenty questions on demonology for all we know. Just as well to cover all bases."

"I wanna come," Willow said. "You might need magic."

"No, you stay here Willow," Giles said firmly, raising a hand at her imminent protest. "If it's a mystical hotspot it's quite possible that the cave will be mystically protected as well. In that case, no magic allowed."

"I don't believe that," Willow protested. "Actually, mystical hotspots in general are more susceptible to magic than..."

"It's not a discussion," Giles interrupted and for a moment an awkward silence filled the shop until Angel, sensing the tension, ended it.

"Someone who can fight should stay behind, especially now that we have Dagon Sphere," Angel said, and glanced at Spike, who looked amused. "Someone _else_."

"I'm not playing watchdog," Faith said. "All this indoor-kitty time makes me itch in places I didn't even know _could_ itch."

"Right," Angel grimaced. "Gunn then, are you cool with that?" He glanced at the man who was slumped in his chair, half lying over the table.

"Fine," he groaned, straightening up. "Guard duty sounds fine. Didn't get much sleep last night, and all of us don't bounce back supernaturally if you know what I'm saying," he said indicating Faith. Another awkward silence followed.

"You're talking about patrol, right," Cordelia said with a disgusted look on her face. "You were up all night because you got so caught up in the vamp hunting you forgot all about bedtime?"

"Go, Cor," Faith grinned. "Just remember it was_ your_ dirty imagine going there, not mine."

* * *

"This nightly outing stuff is getting to be a regular thing with us," Faith said as she got out of the car, stretched and looked around. "Though I'm hoping for a little more action today than I got last night."

"Bet you do," Buffy grimaced, taking a look in the trunk and arming herself. Stake in the waistband, dagger in the boot, crossbow in hand. She liked to come prepared, and between the four of them, they were. Trust Angel to carry the big and heavy and Faith, of course, was a hand-to-hand girl. Giles may not be able to carry his library with him, but she fully trusted that there was no one else who would be better suited if their success depended on knowledge. Instead, he carried a sword, which she knew he could also wield skilfully. "Just like a picnic, only… bloodier."

"Now, wouldn't that be _just_ like a picnic, period, for you?" Faith grinned as she reached into Angel's well stocked trunk and pulled out a few weapons for herself. Buffy flinched at her comment but regained her posture quickly. Faith didn't mean any harm, but she still wasn't quite ready for jokes of that kind, especially not in front of Giles.

"Sunnydale is one funky town," Faith said as the group made their way down a small path leading from Angel's car to the cave entrances – there were plenty of them. "When you drive into town it looks like it's in the middle of the desert, but then we have this," she went on, indicating the ocean.

"That's the southern California coast for you," Buffy shrugged. "If the geology was the strangest thing here, I'd be thrilled."

They covered the rest of the distance in silence.

The entrance Giles led them to by studying his notes wasn't that big – like an average doorway. It was dark in there of course, just like in any other cave. Dark enough that even a vampire couldn't make out anything that might lurk deeply within. Even from a distance it certainly _smelled_ like any other cave. All in all, it looked insignificant and in no way like it housed a powerful weapon, but then again, maybe that was the point.

"This the one?" Faith asked.

"According to Wesley' source, yes. It's the only opening that fits the description."

"So do you think anyone's ever gone in?" Buffy asked no one in particular, eyeing the cave entrance. "I mean, it looks just like any other cave."

"Open door's like a friendly invitation," Faith shrugged, moving closer to the entrance.

"Faith, watch it," Angel cautioned, remaining where he was, as did the others. "We don't know what kind of traps there might be."

"You got another way of finding out?" she called over her shoulder, still approaching, slowly now, every step calculated until she stood only a few feet away from actually being inside the cave. She turned around.

"See?" she said triumphantly. "I bet this whole 'challenge' thing is exaggerated, anyway," she said, taking another step, "I mean…"

**WHAM!** They heard the pulsating sound of a mystical wall erecting, blocking the entrance and fire shot out of the ground, the sheer force of the blast sending Faith flying and she landed hard with a grunt almost all the way back at the others.

"I guess nope, then," Buffy muttered.

"Faith, you good?" Angel asked, offering her a hand.

"Fine," she coughed. "But pissed. When I take a hit like that I like it to be by something I can hit right back, you know," she said, brushing herself off.

"So, this is nice," Buffy said, staring at the dancing flames and the reflections they cast on the barrier. "We can't even get in. And I guess 'open Sesame' won't do any good."

"Fire," Angel muttered. "Of course there is fire."

"At least no one's gotten impaled yet," Buffy offered.

"Any ideas, Giles?"

"Well," Giles said, carefully moving closer to the entrance, though stopping a fair bit from it as flying sparks and heat from the fire kept him at bay. "According to Wesley's contacts reaching the sword would be a challenge, not _impossible_. I can only assume there is a task of some sort to be accomplished here."

"But that's entirely un-helpful as long as we don't know what it is," Buffy said.

"Aw, screw this," Faith said, losing patience and stepping as close to the barrier as she could. "Hey, ASSWIPE!" she yelled. "Some of us _are_ aging here! Knock, knock!"

"Like that's gonna work?" Buffy snorted and for a moment it looked like she was right. It couldn't have been more than fifteen or twenty seconds though until they heard a rumbling, like a tiny earthquake, its power radiating out of the cave.

"All who seek passage must first answer my riddle," a rumbling voice sounded. "Fail and you shall die."

"Oh, this is so cheesy," Faith hissed between her teeth, her involuntary aerodynamics already forgotten.

"Shh," Giles commanded.

"Mountains will crumble and temples will fall, and no man can survive its endless call," the voice sounded again. "What is it?"

"Storms? You know… tornado?" Faith said.

"Fire?" Buffy supplied. "Seems to be a regular thing with these... people? Beings? Um, and, nothing will keep standing if it gets hot enough, right?"

"No, fire won't crumble mountains," Giles said. "But perhaps water… in time it will erode even the bedrock itself."

Angel smiled grimly. "Not water, but I think you're on the right track. The answer is time."

And just like that, the flames disappeared as they had never existed, leaving behind no scorch marks, no lingering heat, not even the smell of smoke. There was a small blast, more like a _pop_ and the mystical barrier vanished.

"Ah, yes. Good then," Giles breathed, his tone revealing relief. "Shall we?"

As ready as they would ever be the four of them made their way into the darkness, however not for long. About twenty feet into the cave two torches came to life as soon as they passed them.

"Cute trick," Faith murmured. "Or a trap."

Aware that this might certainly be the case, Angel grabbed one of the torches and released it from its holder ever so cautiously. Looking around and waiting… but the attack never came. Buffy grabbed the other torch, equally cautious.

"Good? Yep, all good," Faith stated, heading off into the darkness and the others followed.

"What is this," she said, her voice echoing slightly, studying some symbols on the wall. "Look's like damn Greek to me."

"That's because it is," Giles said, studying the words closer. "_'Beware of the three, the two, the one, for they are not what they seem'_."

"Um… meaning?"

"No idea," Giles said lightly. "But everything is a clue, whether it is of use now or down the line."

"Either that, or they just tossed a bunch of stuff in to keep us off track," Faith muttered heading off further into the darkness.

But she didn't make it far without incident.

"Faith, stop," Angel hissed in a voice that made Faith freeze immediately. Looking down she saw a tripwire which she had just touched. Angel moved his torch upwards, shining light on the crossbow waiting to release as soon as the wire was disturbed. Reaching up he grabbed the arrow and yanked it loose, looking around for other traps, discerning that there were none before nodding at Faith who breathed out in relief and took another step forward.

"Still good," she said, gesticulating at Angel with a slight grimace. "Maybe you should take point." Buffy gave her a look and she shrugged. "I'm not looking for your boy to be the first one to be impaled or anything, just being practical here. The super-most of super beings should lead the way, no?"

"The first one?" Angel muttered.

"Well, let's look at your track record. Hell, _all_ of our track records. I'm just sayin'," Faith shrugged.

Buffy sighed as they carefully made their way further into the darkness. It was going to be a long night.


	78. THE CAVE OF DOOM

* * *

**CHAPTER 78: ****THE CAVE OF DOOM**

**

* * *

  
**

They could have been walking for half an hour or two hours, Buffy had long since lost track of time.

She had no watch on; Giles did, of course, but she didn't see any point in asking him. She had the creeping sensation that time had no meaning in this place and she couldn't help but wonder exactly how long it would take for the demons from the Hellmouth to discover a cave like this. It might actually work as a panic room… well, _cave_, if Glory managed to carry out her ritual despite all their efforts.

She frowned at her thoughts. Since when did she make up plans for what they would do or where they would go if the big bad won? This was the new and improved Buffy; contemplating failure. Maybe this depressing brooding thing was just a part of the ensouled vampire package.

She wondered idly if the cave really was this deep, it seemed unlikely, or if it was some reality-flux-fold thing. If that was the case she figured they might be trapped here indefinitely. They were in so deep by now that they probably wouldn't even be able to sense the sun. Days could pass without them knowing it. If this was really some alternate reality deal, days might _already_ have passed.

Again with the depression thing.

Nothing much had happened so far. They had seen some more inscriptions and cave-painting-looking symbols on the walls. Discovered a skeleton or two which Giles and Angel had established to be demonic in origin. Faith had 'joked' about this place being a trap, that they were probably walking in endless circles and that in a week's time they would be the skeletons.

Buffy knew they should be thankful as long as their cave adventure was eventless and boring, but it was still sort of a relief when they saw something other than endless darkness ahead.

"Great," Angel said, stopping. Up ahead the tunnel forked, neither option looking better than the other. "Now what?"

"We have no idea how big the cave is," Giles said. "Perhaps we should think about splitting up."

"You think it's a good idea?" Angel asked.

"Probably not," he admitted, "but time is of the essence. We could wander these tunnels for hours without success."

"Sounds good to me," Faith said. "One vamp per team sounds fair, right?"

Buffy gave Angel a look but heard herself say, "Fine, Giles and I'll take the right tunnel, you and Angel go left." The notion of being alone with Giles was a little scary, but not as bad as sending Angel off with him, or going alone with Faith for that matter. Even to this day Buffy felt like the boring old grandma next to Faith and still, despite everything, she wasn't entirely un-jealous when it came to Angel and Faith.

"Yep. Just yell if you find the fun before we do," Faith said, wasting no time before heading off. Angel lingered behind a step, giving Buffy a long look.

"Be careful," he said gently and she nodded briefly.

"You, too."

Buffy turned to Giles and the look she gave him must have been an uncertain one because it earned her a smile; probably a completely unseemly one considering the situation, but even so, it warmed her.

"Shall we?" he said kindly, and they were off.

Being alone with Giles like this, walking side by side in what could only be described as a relaxed manner despite being armed and ready for one Hellbeast or another to attack made Buffy think back to the early days, the very early days when Giles would often patrol with her. For cemeterial all-nighters he would bring tea, and she would tease him about it. Sometimes they talked, or at least, she talked and he scolded her, telling her to hone her senses in a quiet manner.

And when she killed the bad guys without hardly interrupting herself she would catch him wearing a proud look on his face, only for a second before he would tell her that she could be even more efficient if she embraced the thought of nonverbal slaying. Despite being a man of the Council at the time she knew that, over time he had come to respect her creativity and tendency to get things done in her own way.

Of course, her own way had eventually gotten her killed. Multiple times. She wondered how long she would have lived if she had been a more by-the-handbook-which-oh-by-the-way-she-never-did-get-to-see Slayer but came to the conclusion that she couldn't see how it would have kept her alive longer.

It might have kept the people she cared about alive, though.

Buffy stopped as she heard something. They were coming up on a corner and Buffy was sure she could hear something lurking around it. There was a sizzling noise, like something burning, and the smell of fire hung heavily in the air. Also, she could feel heat – lots of it. Buffy gestured for Giles to stay while she peaked around the corner, weapon at the ready.

Oh, there were demons alright, though they weren't just around the corner. The path led sort of downhill into a larger, more open space where two demons huddled close to a fire. Oh, and the demons themselves were also made out of fire. Buffy felt a tingling down her spine and it wasn't a good one. She recognized this type of demon and would very much have liked _not_ to encounter them again.

Buffy nodded for Giles to come closer and his face lit up with recognition when he saw the demons.

"Ah. These are HTCD, yes of course, these caves are perfect for them" he murmured, as if this statement should explain everything.

"Huh? And… huh?" Buffy liked to think of herself as pretty intelligent. Not dumb at least, in no way village idiot material. But Giles sometimes had the ability to make her feel like an ignorant moron only by uttering a few phrases.

"Heat Thriving Cave Dwellers," he explained in a hushed voice, not wanting to alert the demons. "Generic term for nearly a dozen different species of demons that…"

"Let me guess," Buffy interrupted. "Thrives on heat and lives in caves?"

"Precisely. For obvious reasons they prefer warm climates and rarely venture outside their caves. Not very imaginative perhaps and I _could_ teach you the native names of the demons, but let's save that amusement for a better suited time, shall we?" Giles said in a voice that Buffy knew well, and realized that she had actually missed. This was the stern Watcher speaking to insolent Slayer-voice. He hadn't used it on her for long, simply because they hadn't _been_ Watcher and Slayer, or anything resembling it, for long. It felt nice.

"I've seen some of these before," Buffy murmured. "Angel and I killed one of these at the beach a few years ago."

"Yes?" Giles said, interested. "Which kind?"

"No idea. We just referred to it as a fire demon," Buffy admitted sheepishly. "Seemed, you know, descriptive enough."

"How did you go about killing it that time?" Giles inquired.

"Actually it's a funny story," she said, though she clearly remembered it hadn't been so funny when it happened. "The thing _ate_ my stake and steamed me in the face, and Angel ended up pushing it into the ocean, only he caught on fire himself and had to jump in with it…" she trailed off as she caught herself so openly and easily with Giles – it had been a while since that, too.

"Never use a wooden weapon on any kind of HTCD," Giles said, Watcher as he was, but he did look somewhat amused. "They can draw energy from anything flammable. That's why they are huddled around a fire, they're feeding from it. Water of large quantities is the most effective way to dispose of them, certainly. Short of that severing the head with a metallic weapon does the trick, as long as one uses metal with a high enough melting point." ´

"No other way to go but forward," Buffy sighed and indicated the sword Giles was carrying. "Do you mind?" Her stake and crossbow would be useless and she would really rather _not_ try to kill these things with a tiny dagger.

Slowly, silently Buffy crept up on the nearest demon. For once she was in luck, both of them were sloppy guards and had their backs turned. Also, stealthy as she was _before_? Definitely improved in that department.

The heat that radiated from the demons and their cosy little fire was bad enough that Buffy had to force herself to move forward as her instincts told her to recoil, get away from the deadly flames. She remembered seeing Angel catch on fire as he wrestled a thing like this, she remembered her own screaming as the demon and him both went down into the dark water and the seconds of panic when all she could think was whether she would actually be able to see his ashes in the water or if they would disperse too quickly, before he popped back up and she couldn't figure out whether to kiss him or kill him for acting so recklessly.

Angel hadn't been badly hurt, mostly pissed about his clothes, but Buffy had insisted on staying with him and tending to his wounds, and when that was seen to just staying with him for no good reason at all. It had been another one of those nights, that particular one on his couch, she remembered – awkward but strangely comforting, until the sun came up and he had to retreat to the shadows while she returned to her daylight-life.

The frustration. The memory might be an old one, but the frustration was just as much present now, and luckily, she could still vent the same way she always had – by kicking some serious demon ass.

"Hey, hothead!" Buffy called, the demon jumped to its feet, spun around and she had to pull back to avoid the flames on the things arms that were roaring with life when they were fed with new oxygen. It might be quick, but she was quicker. The demon's head and body parted ways before it could even consider a counter attack. The other one though, had time to arm itself with a long, sharp stick that it pulled out of the fire. Buffy regarded the weapon with disgust. Of the relatively few things that would kill her, this combined two of them. Just great.

Two minutes later the second demon was delightfully dead as well and Giles and Buffy – now a little singed around the edges – were moving forward, once again side by side, now engaged in conversation. Buffy had asked why they didn't make a few more _water_ demons and her question compelled Giles to educate her on the Chinese Water Dragons and their infinite horrors.

Despite the situation, the time and the place and the fight with complementary first degree burns, and despite not knowing what else was in stall before they were out of this place Buffy felt better, more normal than she had in a long time. A small smile crept onto her face.

* * *

"So what do these inscriptions say? 'Five minutes until arrival at your horrible death scene' or, 'if you're close enough to read this you're close enough for the gigantic boulder to smosh you'?"

"Not sure," Angel murmured. "Exactly why splitting up wasn't a great idea."

"Yeah, yeah," Faith said, waving her hand dismissively. "The way I see it; it looks wrong, it dies. Never needed any inscriptions to kill demons before."

"If I thought some demons and a few trip wires would be the biggest challenge in this place, I'd agree," Angel said with a sigh. "I have a bad feeling."

"Don't you always?" Faith said, then she stopped, stiffening. "I think I hear something."

Angel nodded. He did, too. "There is something ahead," he said, staring into what seemed to Faith like solid darkness. He put the torch out against the ground, knowing that whatever was out there might already have seen them, but the longer they could stay concealed the better.

"I don't see a thing," Faith complained as they pushed forward, but she could hardly finish before a terrible, demonic roar interrupted her. "But I guess _it_ saw _us_."

"Just stay close," Angel whispered. "I can see them."

100 feet or so ahead two torches came to life, revealing three large demons, wearing heavy armour and armed to the teeth – which were also huge by the way. The fangs were more like tusks, sticking out of their mouths like on a walrus with promises of a messy death for anybody they were used on. They were standing side by side, effectively blocking the tunnel. It was clear that the only way forward was past them. Angel and Faith remained frozen for a minute, unsure whether the demons had spotted them and waiting for some sort of reaction.

Natural hunters as they both were they crept forward without a sound. When the distance between them and the demons was reduced to less than 30 feet and they still didn't seem to have spotted them, Angel stopped again, unsure how to proceed. Faith cast an annoyed look over her shoulder.

"What are you waiting for? The demons are _that_ way."

"Wait, stop," Angel said.

"Two things I really suck at!" she yelled in frustration, discretion now forgotten, but nevertheless she did stand still.

Angel stared at the demons for a long minute. Something here was not right. One of the guards roared, but the sound didn't echo. And the roar – it was exactly identical to the one it had uttered a minute earlier. There was no scent, and no crunching under their large, clawed feet when they shuffled. They never gave him or Faith a look even though they must have seen and heard them by now. Blind and deaf demons made for lousy guards…

Angel picked up a rock and hurled it at one of them, hitting it promptly in the face. One might have expected another roar, an attack, a reaction from the other demons or even a pained howl. One did not, however, expect the demons to explode – no, make that _implode_, and emitting a powerful magical blast that felt almost like an electric shock and sent Angel and Faith flying several yards back.

"Okay, ow," Faith said weakly, struggling to her feet, feeling her hair which was now standing wildly on end. "Aw, crap."

"Are you alright?" Angel asked, getting up and glancing in the direction of the demons. Or rather, where they been just before.

"Fine, but I've had it with being tossed around like a ragdoll, you know," Faith muttered, looking in the same direction as Angel. "So what was this, demon version of a suicide bomber?"

"No," Angel said. "The demons weren't real… A mirage, set up to draw you close…"

"…and kill you with the blast, right. Cute trick." Faith grimaced, trying to smooth down her hair. Angel looked at her as if not having noticed the electric do before now, and knowing Angel that was probably just the case, and upon this comical sight he looked somewhat amused.

"What?" Faith said. "Yours looks like this all the time. _On purpose_."

It wasn't until she turned her back that Angel frowned and self-consciously felt his own hair.

These thoughts of vanity, however, were soon interrupted by a rumbling. The ground was shivering, only slightly, like a mild earth quake. And given their location it was entirely possible, but…

"What the hell?" Faith said.

"Shhh. Listen," he said, staying near the wall and listening intently. He put his hand to the stone wall and felt it tremble so hard that it was clear that the shiver in the ground was emanating from the wall. If he didn't know any better he would say that the entire wall was about to collapse, which was a really bad notion when venturing deeply inside a cave. He gave Faith a worried look. "Do you feel that?"

* * *

"What does those inscriptions even mean? They look like doodles to me."

"No, no, they're not. It's a demonic language... _looks_ almost like Arabic, but it's not. Hm, interesting…"

"Interesting, really? First Greek, which I can understand. Hephaestin was a Greek god, right? But why would they write in demonic languages? What is this place, a mockery of everybody who doesn't know dozens of languages?" Giles smiled a little, but decided not to comment on Buffy's error, knowing by experience that her trouble with names had little to do with ignorance.

"Strength of the mind, remember?" He said instead. "Any demon powerful enough could claim the sword if it only required force."

"Yeah, yeah," Buffy sighed, studying the strange scribbling on the wall with a quirk of her brow. "So can you read it?"

"Actually yes, I recognize this. I think I can interpret it well enough to get the meaning. It says, hm…"

"Hm? It says hm? You and those non-Arabic demons have a lot in common."

"_When paths cross, you will see that which is not real. Upon demise_… or possibly _ruination_, or _termination_, _reality will be restored_."

"Great, that's great. I need more cryptic in my life," Buffy muttered, then froze. "Do you hear that?"

Giles did not, of course, but he followed Buffy closely as she treaded forward carefully. She came to an abrupt halt as the sound of scraping stone reached her ears. Before their eyes a section of the stone wall crumbled and collapsed, the ground trembling under her feet as the rocks came raining down. Buffy looked around in panic for cover, finding none and thinking that this would be a messy end, though _she_ probably wouldn't go quickly unless a boulder happened to decapitate her, until she realized that the entire cave was _not_ coming down on them, only a part of the wall.

Odd.

There was a second of stillness as the dust settled and then… _something_ came through the opening.

It was two horrible demons, not of the fiery kind but the scaly, fanged and clawed kind, because they wouldn't ever get enough of those. They were carrying weapons but looking strong enough that they wouldn't actually need them. The beasts took a look at Buffy and Giles, uttered some growling noises and advanced.

"Why do you just _know_ that these guys aren't here to give us directions," Buffy said, wasting no time before attacking. She kicked the smaller demon out of the way and the larger one seemed almost surprised by her aggression. Its weapon wasn't even raised. Cocky little lizard, huh? Had she been the old Buffy, this would have been the perfect opening for a pun. The new Buffy, however, only wanted this thing in the ground as quickly as possible.

The creature blocked her punches with large, scaly, green arms, it-he-whatever ducked when she aimed a kick for its head and almost managed to kick away her legs but moved too slowly and let her jump out of its reach. It was almost as if its heart wasn't in the fight, presuming that it _had_ a heart, but Buffy wasn't about to complain. In the corner of her eye she saw that the smaller demon went for her as well, arms gesticulating, but Giles, now unarmed as Buffy still carried his sword, grabbed it by one of the flailing arms and pushed it back. Buffy glanced around and saw a rock of suitable size, aimed and kicked it at the smaller beast, striking it in the forehead.

The larger demon seemed somewhat distracted by this move, confused even, and that gave Buffy the opening she had been waiting for. She kicked away its legs – it was simpler than it should have been for such a large demon, but she didn't have time to reflect on that in the heat of battle. The smaller demon stopped and yelled… yelled? She swung the sword she had slain the fire demon with and plunged it into the beast's chest.

It was then that the glamour collapsed and the horrible beast turned into Angel. The other demon shimmered equally and returned to its true form of Faith.

"What the hell are you doing, B?" came Faith's outraged cry and Buffy realized she must have yelled something similar just before. She just couldn't understand it. She looked at Faith and saw a deep cut just above her eye just where the rock had hit her bleeding profusely.

Horrified Buffy pulled back and withdrew the sword, her mind flashing back to another time and another place, almost to the day, three years ago. The sword, stained with Angel's blood, clattered against the rocks when she dropped it.

_'See what isn't real'_. She had seen the cryptic message just a minute before and the possibility that this might be it hadn't even crossed her mind. Like a true demon she had gone right for the kill, no questions asked.

"No!" she breathed, but it was barely above a whisper because despite not needing any air, she seemed to find herself completely out of breath. She fell to her knees at Angel's side, her hands instinctively clutching his wound. It was a human reaction, unnecessary; because of course he couldn't really die from the blood loss. It was a mortal wound and that must have been what made the glamour collapse, but it still wouldn't kill a vampire. But Buffy felt as if she would die all over again for doing this to him – again.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Buffy repeated like a mantra. "I didn't see…"

"It's okay, Buffy," he claimed, weakly. "Just glad you didn't chop my head off instead."

She heard the tearing of fabric, turned around and saw Giles methodically ripping up his shirt - thank the Englishman for wearing so many layers despite having lived in southern California for years – and gave a folded piece of shirt to Buffy.

"Press this to the wound," he said calmly and Buffy felt a comforting hand squeezing her shoulder. "He will be alright, you know."

Buffy swallowed hard and looked away, not knowing what to say. Yes, she knew, physically he would be fine, that was unless this wound would prove to slow him down enough that he wouldn't make it out of this cave. Major wounds were the last thing they needed.

But that wasn't the only thing that bothered her. Last year, when Giles was turned into a demon, she had looked in his eyes and _seen_ that it was him. Granted she had given him a chest wound first, as well, but… This time the clues had been literally painted on the walls, and she hadn't even stopped to consider that maybe things weren't what they first seemed. It was kill first, think later. She didn't like these changes in her instincts and reactions.

Clearly in pain, Angel struggled to a sitting position against an undamaged section of the wall with Buffy helping him.

"Let me guess," he grunted. "More illusions?"

"How did you know?"

"'Cause we saw one, too," Faith explained, pressing another piece of shirt to her forehead. "Or three, to be exact. Only our guys weren't even real. There was electricity, or something like it, and a blast, and you know how it goes. Nothing hurt 'cept that my hair suffered some damage… but now that it's full of nice, sticky, blood-soon-to-be-of-the-dried-variety I feel like I shouldn't complain 'bout a little electrocution."

"I guess now that I've been run through the cosmic balance is restored," Angel said wryly, trying to make light of the situation to alleviate Buffy's guilt. Faith grinned at that, but Buffy had a hard time seeing the humour.

"Joking matters aside," Giles said gravely, "these caves are apparently dangerous in ways that we weren't prepared for. If it had been Faith suffering that wound, she would have died. From now on we stay in one group."

"Sounds good to me," Angel agreed as Buffy helped him to his feet. "Now let's move. I'd really rather be out of here before the sun comes up."

* * *

Faith and Giles were in the lead now, while Buffy and Angel lingered a few yards behind. Buffy was walking next to Angel, repeatedly tossing him worried glances, though she tried to do it from the corner of her eye without him knowing it. But of course he had already noticed what she was doing and after the umpteenth glance in fifteen minutes he was starting to look strangely amused.

"Don't," he said finally.

"Don't, what?"

"Don't be sorry. You acted on your instincts, took down the demon and protected yourself and Giles. You didn't do anything wrong."

"But what if my instincts are wrong? Then how can I trust myself?"

"They aren't, and you have to. You can't stop and question yourself in the middle of a fight. When the kill is there, you have to take it. If you can't do that, you and the people around you will get hurt."

"You're saying I did right by killing you?"

"Apart from that you didn't? Yes. You eliminated the threat. Under the circumstances that's all that matters." Buffy swallowed hard, lowering her gaze, wondering if maybe there was a deeper implication in his words.

"Are you done?" Sharp reflexes were the only thing keeping Buffy from bumping right into Faith who, apparently, had stopped when she was busy condemning herself and _not_ looking where she was going. She looked up and frowned. Some drying blood was smeared across Faith's face, but thankfully the wound itself had clotted by now.

"Done with what?"

"With the doom-damned-blame-marathon. I assume that's what you've been doing." Faith raised an eyebrow - the one without the gash above it. "'I'm so sorry'," she said in a light voice, "'no, I'm more sorry'," in a darker one, then shook her head dismissively. "We know, okay?"

"It's _sorrier_," Buffy said dryly. "And I wasn't doing that." Faith smiled.

"Sure you weren't. But if you're done… you know, _not_ doing that, maybe you could concentrate on what we're doing here? There is something ahead."

As if on cue a number of torches along the walls came to life one after another and, when fully lit, they took in the sight of what lay before them. Very different from the tunnel they had been walking through, it looked more the interior of a temple than the inside of a cave. The ceiling was high, giving a sense of space.

On each side of the entrance, if one could call it that when there was no door, stood a marble statue cut into the shape of a gorgon. Similar statues could be seen at the exit, perhaps 20 yards away. The walls were painted in dark colours they could spot some scribbling on the wall near the exit.

"This torch trick," Faith muttered, "just getting old."

"Eeek," Buffy sounded, giving the sculptures a suspicious look. "These things are creepier than any puppets or garden gnomes you could think of."

"What is this place," Angel murmured. "I don't like it."

"You got a bad feeling again?" Faith asked, quirking a brow. "Well, guess that's kinda expected, huh?"

"Right there with you," Buffy said, ignoring Faith, "but I've had one of those ever since we entered the cave."

"We should tread very carefully," Giles said, squinting and adjusting his glasses. "I would very much like to read those inscriptions before entering."

"I can't read it either," Angel said. "The angle is wrong from here."

"How red were their faces when they realized they put the greeting sign up at the wrong end," Faith joked. "Can anyone spell trap?"

"Perhaps," Giles agreed. "But I can't see that we have any choice but to enter."

"I'll go first," Angel said. "Let me go see what the inscriptions say and when we know that it's safe… or at least what the catch is, you can follow."

"I don't like it," Buffy said. "You're hurt. Both of us should go." Angel shook his head.

"No, I want you out of harms way. We don't know…" he interrupted himself. "I'll be alright."

"At least take the sword. There isn't enough space for your axe thing here." He accepted the exchange of weapons after a moment's hesitation, and then moved carefully into the great hall-temple-cavern…well, whatever it was.

A few yards in there he froze suddenly. She could hear him gasp, as if he had just lost his breath. Only, he didn't breathe.

"What is it?" Buffy called after him, not really _worried_ yet, but at least _bothered_. "Hear something… see something?"

Angel turned around slowly, and the new glint in his eyes sent chills all down Buffy's spine. Part of her wanted to shrink away and cry – but part of her was mesmerized, drawn to the darkness she saw there.

"Angel?" she said, unable to keep the quiver away from her voice. He _laughed_.

"Yeah, sure, _'Angel'_," he repeated mockingly. "Why don't you come here and give me a kiss, lover?"


	79. TRUE COLOURS

A/N: I realize this has been a long time coming. Sorry. Hope you hadn't given up on updates. Anyways, thanks for hanging in there and please leave a comment, feedback is food for the writer's soul! Thanks to everybody who's been sticking with this story over the years, though updates may sometimes be sparse I definitely intend to finish it.

* * *

**CHAPTER 79: ****TRUE COLOURS**

**

* * *

  
**

"Angel, pull yourself together," Giles commanded sternly, instinctively stepping in when he saw Buffy looking ready to fall apart. "This has to be another illusion of some sort." Despite being convinced that this must be the case; yes, he was almost completely sure, he told himself, he still felt his heart speed up under Angel's dark gaze, and he knew the vampire could sense it.

"Well if it is, then I like it," Angel laughed. "It's, what's the word… _perfect_."

"Man, have you thought about writing a book," Faith said, not knowing what to think. "I'm thinking, maybe… 100 Ways To Lose That Pesky Soul or… Soul Lossage for Dummies?"

"Listen to Giles," Buffy said, taking a few steps forward, trying hard to pull herself together. She could to do this. Faith could handle herself, but she had to protect Giles. If she could just knock him out they could restrain him and figure out what spell he was under.

It _had_ to be a spell.

"It's not real, just an illusion. I know you're still in there."

"You always do, don't you? And see where it's gotten you! The only illusion is the soul to begin with," Angel shot back. "It's about time you realize that. If words can't convince you…" he moved his sword for emphasis. "I guess I'll have to find another way."

Buffy took another step, and yet another. She still had Angel's axe. Not that she had any plans to do anything to him that required an axe, but she wasn't stupid enough to surrender her weapon. She wasn't a big fan of the large and clumsy weaponry – maybe it had something do to with all of those years of sneaking and hiding and needing weapons to be inconspicuous; fitting in drawers, concealed in clothing, lockers, smallish bags – but she could make non-lethal use of this.

_Eliminate the threat, that's all that matters_. His words from just before repeated in her head and she suspected that in his right mind he would consider this just such a situation where that logic should be applied. But things were never as simple as that. He had also told her to trust her instincts and that was what she was doing right now. Something very strange was going on and she had to pull him out of it.

Completely focused on Angel she never noticed the small crackling of power just as she passed between the two gorgon statues. She stopped, as if she had just forgotten what she was doing.

Then her posture changed and she tossed the axe on the ground between her and Angel.

"You want me?" she asked, a seductive smirk tugging on her lips. "Come get me then."

Dumbstruck Faith stared at the scene in front of them, half fascinated, half grossed out by the vampires who were now attempting to eat each others faces. "Giles, what the _hell_ is going on?"

"I have no idea," he admitted. "But I don't think we should follow them."

"So what, we just stand here while they really get into it and watch 'em…"

"Something," Giles interrupted firmly, desperately not wanting to hear the ending to that sentence, "something in this place must be doing this to them."

"Yeah, 'cause it's not like they could have really lost it, right? Right?"

"Lost what?" Faith jumped, because suddenly Buffy was all the way up in her face, grabbing her by the jacket. "The conscience, all those emotions bearing down… hanging off of me like rotting flesh? Got over that." Using her powers, now without restraint or hesitation Buffy easily threw Faith, landing her against the wall with a grunt. It took a moment for her to recover but when she got back up, she did so with a look in her eyes that Buffy hadn't seen for a long time. All that rage.

She liked it.

"That looked like fun," Angel said to Giles, indicating Faith. "This is probably the part where you should turn and run away." Giles' eyes were as grim as his voice.

"Surely you know I won't."

"Yeah, true, I do. Should we see if you land as well as the Slayer then?" He lunged forward and grabbed the Watcher by the neck, flipping him over his shoulder. Giles landed hard and remained still for a moment.

"Oh, Rupert," Angel sing-songed, pacing as Giles grunted and struggled to his feet. "I believe the two of us have unfinished business."

"That's Ripper for you, you berk," Giles sneered, moving smoothly now, the sword Angel had discarded in hand, pointed at Angel's throat as they circled each other, slowly, every step calculated.

"Yeah?" Angel chuckled. "Where was 'Ripper' when all those kids you had responsibility for got themselves picked off one by one? You remember them, don't you, old man? Tara, Anya, little Dawnie…" he stopped and made sure he really had Giles' attention before delivering the final blow, smiling as he did so. "Buffy."

At that Giles lunged, thrusting his sword, but Angel, ready for this, spun out of his way laughing, tripping him for good measure. When he was on the ground he put his foot on the hand that still gripped the sword and started putting weight on it.

"Now," he said darkly. "Let's try this finger thing again, shall we."

No more than a few yards away Faith and Buffy were circling each other in a similar manner, for the time being only exchanging insults but looking more and more ready to take things further.

"Faith, tell me. Do you think the girl they will call in your place will be as big of a loser as you are? Bet Mommy was a drunk already when she got knocked up with you. Or maybe she just started drinking to relive the pain of having such a worthless kid. Let's face it. People close to you tend to end up rather… suicidal."

"This coming from the prissy Slayer that keep the failures pile high? Couldn't save Mommy, little sis… even yourself? From your own _boyfriend_."

She sneered at Buffy's look as her words hit home and looked over at Angel. "The men in your life end up dead or run away. Or both. Riley's engine spun like a cat under me… and though it all he never even suspected that you weren't… you. Kinda makes you wonder how well he knew him after all, huh? Or maybe he knew, he just didn't care, because all you ever were to him was a convenient piece of cu…"

"Oh sorry, were you talking?" Buffy smiled as she withdrew her fist, lapping at the knuckles now stained with blood from Faith's split lip. "I got all distracted by the stench of your foul mouth flapping."

Getting back up and wiping the blood from her lip Faith was wearing a venomous look on her face. "Still a priss, huh? Face it B, all the guys ever saw in you was a nice, tight ass."

"If you're gonna piss me off you're gonna have to come up with something new," Buffy laughed. "The boyfriend thing? So last season. At least I'm not a slut."

"Your body got around some if I recall," Faith smirked. "Though admittedly, it isn't much of a body."

"Oh, Faithy. Your words sting me." She smiled, and then she morphed. "Not as much as these will sting you, though."

They fought as fiercely, as dirty as they ever had, trading blows at a speed that probably made them look like a blur to an outside onlooker. As evenly matched as ever; supernatural beings as they were the two of them could have been at it for ages without anyone gaining the upper hand, if it hadn't been for the fact that one party had a set of fangs and a newfound eagerness to use them. With Slayer powers and Vampire assets in syndication, she was hard to beat. Buffy drove Faith backwards up against the wall and when she had nowhere else to go, Buffy grabbed her by the hair and smacked the back of her head against the wall, relishing the sickening sound of her skull thudding against stone, kneed her in the stomach and wasted no time punning or gloating before plunging her fangs into the dazed Slayer's neck.

Somehow Giles got a hold of the axe with his left hand and had enough strength to swing it; just enough so that Angel had to jump back to avoid having his legs seriously downsized. He still held both weapons as he got up but his hold on the axe was poor and Angel wrung it from his fingers without difficulty.

"We're skipping straight to the final event then, well, I guess this isn't the time or the place to torture you to death." Giles was kicked to the ground again with ease. He was only human after all and without the advantages that had allowed him to bring Angel to his knees that one previous time. Angel swung the axe and brought it down, about to cleave Giles' skull in one swift motion…

And then he stopped.

"Giles?" he said, shaking his head in confusion. But Giles or rather 'Ripper' was already on his feet, charging Angel with his sword raised. In self-defence now, Angel slapped his palms together and caught the blade mid-air and wrung the weapon from his hands.

"Giles, snap out of it," he shouted but Giles was already readying himself for another attack, his rage unnatural – no, Angel realized, _super_natural. He glanced at the gorgon statues; two at the entrance of this place and two at the exit, and started putting two and two together. Well, of course, it was only a theory, but it was the only one he had.

"Sorry," he murmured at he deflected Giles' blows and hit him in the head with just enough force that he would be passed out for a minute or two, he hoped. Who knew how much more trauma the old Watcher's head could take without suffering permanent damage.

Dragging the unconscious form of Giles past the statues at the exit he saw Faith and Buffy going at each other and realized that he had to do something there quickly. Buffy had Faith pinned firmly against the wall, drinking from her. And for every drop of Slayer blood she got in her system she would be that much more difficult to overthrow.

He didn't want to fight her. In this state odds were that one or both of them would be injured, and it was the last thing they needed. With his stab wound and her just having fed on a Slayer, he feared that a fight would be hard, vicious and that he would ultimately lose. All he had to do was to drag her 20 lousy feet past the statues.

Yes, that was _all_ he had to do.

"Find your own!" Buffy hissed in outrage as he pulled her off of Faith, who looked rather pale by now and sank limply to the ground when Buffy released her grip. At least he wouldn't have to fight her as well. Her pulse was still strong, though, so he didn't think her life was in any real danger. Buffy had pinned her hard and probably put pressure on her windpipe as well. Hopefully she was just dazed.

"You're pathetic," Buffy spat, writhing in his grip, tossing her head back to head butt him, digging her fingers into his arm hard enough to bruise. "Always spoiling everybody's fun. I should kill you and make sure you never claw your way back again."

"Killing each other is so old," Angel retorted, dragging her closer, closer to the statues. She might be able to beat him in a straight up fight, but he had the advantage of a much greater weight. Keeping her elevated, feet not connecting with the ground, kept her from using her strength fully and turning his moves against him. Small as she was though her limbs might as well be made of iron and he nearly lost his grip on her when she sent a sharp elbow into his chest and the wound that was there.

"Painful, huh? You wear your open chest wounds so well," she practically hissed at him.

The last few yards he pushed her hard, tossed her really, and she stumbled to her knees. She remained still there for a moment and as he knew that she wouldn't be harmed from such a fall, it must be the spell wearing off. He went to get Faith as well before she had regained enough strength to get up.

When all four of them were safely outside of the area Angel sank down, sitting on a rock. Feeling drained, he looked at the others, deciding that they must be feeling pretty much the same. Buffy was still slumped on the ground, saying nothing. He could see the shame on her face and it broke his heart to see her feel so badly again, just because of a stupid enchantment. He knew exactly what she felt. It didn't matter that some outside influence had made her act that way and say those things – it was still her hands that were stained with someone else's blood, still her voice that said the words, and the memory of it wouldn't fade in a long, long time.

Faith pressed her palm to the side of her neck and it came back bloody. She winced and wiped the blood off on her pant leg. She hadn't actually lost that much blood, she didn't think, but it still stung. Not that she would admit it, of course.

"So," she breathed. "I'm thinking this might be what they meant by 'strength of the mind'." Her gaze travelled across the sombre faces of Angel, Buffy and Giles and they all looked like someone had killed their puppy. Buffy's bloody hands were trembling and she never took her eyes off them. Giles' face was set, his mouth thin and the lines in his face seemed deeper than an hour ago. Angel sat a distance away from him, turned away, looking down.

Goody, Faith thought, _depression time_. Just what they needed.

"It's no trauma," Faith went on, feeling like someone needed to say something, _anything_ to relieve the tension, though it felt out of place that the person with the open neck wound had to act as the most positive thinker in the bunch. "It's not like pretty much all of us haven't tried to kill each other before."

Buffy stared at her hands and the blood that that stained them. Some had gotten caught under her fingernails. Dark red crescents, frowning up at her, marking her as the killer she was. She had tried to tear Faith's throat out with her bear hands. She had wanted to, badly. She had bit into her, felt the tender flesh of her neck tearing, felt the warmth of her blood spilling out, taking in the fragrance of it and drunk it down deeply… she was deeply disgusted with herself and yet, looking at her bloody fingers the only thing she could think about was how much she wanted to stick them in her mouth and suck them just to get a little bit more of the taste in her mouth.

"I… I need to go," she murmured hastily and took off into the darkness. She heard Giles voice somewhere behind her, gently calling her back, but she ignored it. He had seen her for what she was now. A demon, just as vile as any of the beasts they had slain in the past five years. Soul or no soul, it didn't matter. It was in her, and she hated that he had seen it.

"Stay with Giles," Angel hastily instructed Faith before taking off after Buffy.

The solid darkness around her felt like a comforting blanket as she half ran – fled – down the tunnel. She was a creature of the night, alright. Lurking in the shadows and liking it there. Lurking in the shadows, drinking blood and relishing the kill. Disgusting. Monster. The soul was supposed to be the big difference but she had just proven that it was meaningless.

_'The only illusion is the soul to begin with.'_ Words meant to hurt, to frighten, she knew, but still, right now they rang eerily true.

"Buffy, wait," she heard Angel's voice calling her. She didn't, though, not until she felt a firm hand on her shoulder. She stopped hesitantly and let herself be turned around to face him.

"Look, I get the need for space, to get away… believe me," he said gently. "But this isn't the time or the place. We need to stay together if we want to get out of her as quickly as possible."

"I can't be around them… people," she said, exasperated. "You say _you're_ not safe, but what am I? At least you had enough control to turn yourself around. Another minute and I would have killed Faith if you hadn't pulled me out of it."

"Maybe you should ask Giles before praising my control," Angel said with a wry smile. "I don't even know how I snapped out of it. Maybe the spell simply wore off after a certain time, I was under longest. Or maybe a hundred years of controlling the demon is starting to pay off."

"Maybe I don't have that control, then," Buffy said, shaking her head. "The way I felt back there… it scares me to even think about being around people I care about with all that lurking under the surface.

"I know. We all have inner demons," Angel said. "Us, more literal than most. It's not your fault, this place, it just… brought it out." Buffy glanced at him, looking defeated.

"Which is to say that all of this, the rage, the bloodlust, the wanting to…." She stopped herself before going into too much detail. "It's not something that was created; it's always in there… waiting for control to be lost… defences lowered."

"Yes," Angel said honestly. He couldn't lie to her about this, he had damned her to this fate, and he at least owed her that honesty. "But it's in everybody, to some degree. Even Giles. Not because he's a demon, but the exact opposite, because he's human. And without a dark side, he wouldn't be."

"I've heard the _everybody's got demons_ talk before. I get it. But most people's dark sides don't have capacity for mass murder and bringing about the end of the world." She quirked an eyebrow. "You can relate."

"You know I can. But you also know as well as I do that those abilities can be used for good, too. But you can't run and hide. You have to get out there and make it happen." He reached his hand out to cup her face, bringing her head up so that their eyes met. "Remember who taught me that?"

She managed a small smile, not because the situation was okay or the events that had occurred since they entered this cave had been forgotten, but because she needed him to know that she remembered that they had gotten through worse in the past – and that they would again in the near future. And for that she needed to keep herself together. Push through.

"An irritating little blonde?"

Angel draped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her close.

"You're not irritating, Buffy," Angel murmured, his chin resting on the top of her head, adding teasingly, and though she couldn't see his face she could feel him smiling. "On my Most Annoying Blonde's list, you don't even make it to top five. Well, usually not. Are you ready to go back to the others?"

She sighed, pulling away from him just far enough that she could look at him. "I'm not sure I'll ever be." She saw compassion and understanding in his eyes as he nodded.

"I know the feeling."

Side by side they headed back, in silence for a little while before Buffy spoke again.

"So... when have I made it onto that list, anyway?"


End file.
